Page 8

Logan

The afternoon sun beat down on the metal weather station as I tightened the last bolt, sweat dripping between my shoulder blades. The equipment looked convincing enough—a mix of legitimate sensors and whatever electronic junk Jace had cobbled together to sell our cover story.

“Mister! Mister!” a small voice piped up behind me.

I turned to find three kids, maybe nine or ten years old, watching from a safe distance. They’d been creeping closer for the past hour, curiosity finally overcoming caution.

The bravest one, a boy with a gap-toothed grin, pointed at the anemometer Ty was mounting on a pole and rattled off a question in rapid Spanish.

“It’s for…” I searched for the words. “Wind. To measure wind.”

The kids giggled, and Gap-Tooth shook his head vigorously, launching into an explanation that involved a lot of hand gestures. The smallest kid, a girl with pigtails, made whooshing sounds and flapped her arms like a bird.

“I think they think we’re studying birds,” Ty muttered.

“No, not birds,” Jace tried, holding up the laptop showing weather data. “Rain? Storms?”

The third kid’s eyes went wide, and he said something that made the other two burst into laughter.

“What did he say?” I asked.

“No idea, but I don’t think we’re getting our point across.”

Lauren’s voice carried across the yard, warm with suppressed laughter. “Having some translation issues?”

She walked over, and the kids immediately swarmed her, chattering excitedly. She listened, nodding seriously, then turned to us with dancing eyes.

“They think you’re studying flying ants that predict storms.”

“Flying ants?” Jace looked at his equipment. “How did they get flying ants from this?”

Lauren knelt down to the kids’ level and explained in Spanish, using simple words and lots of gestures. The children nodded, finally understanding.

“A grandmother in their village predicts rain by her joint pain,” Lauren translated as the little girl spoke. “She wants to know if your machines work the same way.”

“Similar concept,” I said. “Less arthritis involved.”

The kids peppered us with questions after that, their initial shyness evaporating.

Lauren translated, turning our fumbling weather explanations into something that made sense.

I found myself watching her more than the kids—the way she gave each child her full attention, never talking down to them or rushing their questions.

“Dr. Lauren is teaching us English,” the little girl announced proudly, her accent heavy but the words clear. “She says I am very smart student.”

“Elena is the smartest,” Lauren confirmed, ruffling her hair.

Dr. Yang emerged from the clinic, smiling at the scene. “Tuesday afternoon lessons,” she explained to me quietly. “Lauren started it her second week here. Now, half the village kids show up.”

Of course she did. Because apparently providing medical care to an entire region wasn’t enough—she had to educate their children too. Each detail I learned made it clearer how deep her roots ran here. Pulling her out was going to be like extracting a tooth.

Elena tugged on Lauren’s sleeve and asked something that made Lauren’s face flush pink.

“What?” I couldn’t help but ask after that blush.

“Elena thinks everyone should get married,” Lauren explained quickly. “Last week, she tried to set me up with the baker’s son.”

The girl pointed at me and said something else that made the other kids giggle.

“Time for you kids to head home,” Lauren said, shooing them toward the road. “Your mothers will wonder where you are.”

The kids protested but eventually scattered, calling goodbyes over their shoulders. As they ran off, Ty and Jace walked toward the clinic with Dr. Yang, leaving Lauren and me on our own.

I noticed two men lounging against a building across the way, watching our interaction with interest. They’d been watching with the same interest when we’d been talking with the kids.

“Shit,” I muttered.

Lauren followed my gaze. “That’s just Pedro and his brother. They’re harmless.”

“They’re witnesses. Tomorrow, the whole region will know about the American weather team at the clinic.”

“So? That’s your cover story.”

“A cover story only works if everyone tells it the same way. Those kids are going home right now, telling their parents about the gringos studying flying ants.”

Lauren crossed her arms. “The people here aren’t spies. They’re farmers and shopkeepers who want to be left alone.”

“Until someone offers them money for information. Or threatens their families. Or?—”

“God, do you ever see anything good in people? Or do you just assume everyone’s either a threat or a potential threat?”

“I see people as they are. Desperate, scared, and willing to do whatever keeps their kids fed.”

“That’s not seeing people as they are. That’s seeing them as you expect them to be.” Her green eyes flashed with anger. “These are good people, Logan. They’re my friends.”

“Your friends who will sell you out the moment the cartel applies pressure.”

“You’re wrong.”

“I’m realistic. There’s a difference between being optimistic and being naive, and you crossed that line quite a while ago, it looks like.” Shit. Just because that was true didn’t mean I needed to be a dick about it.

Her jaw tightened. “Naive. Right. Because believing in human decency makes me naive.”

“In cartel territory? Yes.”

“I guess I’d rather be naive than whatever you are.”

She stalked back toward the clinic before I could respond. Not that I had a good response. What was I supposed to say? That I’d seen too many good people do terrible things when pushed? That trusting anyone in a place like this was a luxury she couldn’t afford?

Jace passed her, walking back out. “I heard some of that. Smooth.”

“Shut up.”

“I’m just saying, insulting the woman’s entire world view might not be the best extraction strategy.”

I turned back to the weather equipment, adjusting components that didn’t need adjusting. Across the way, Pedro and his brother had moved on, but I knew they’d be talking. By nightfall, everyone in a ten-mile radius would know about the American weather team.

Two hours later, a group of women from the village arrived, carrying covered dishes. The smell of rice and beans and something spicy made my stomach growl.

They announced they’d brought food for the scientists, that we couldn’t work on empty stomachs. Soon, a makeshift table was covered with dishes, and Lauren appeared to help distribute plates.

The women immediately surrounded her, voices dropping to that universal pitch that meant gossip. I didn’t need to understand the language to recognize the glances thrown my way or the laughter when Lauren shook her head emphatically at whatever they were suggesting.

I took my plate to a spot against the building, far enough from the gathering to avoid conversation but close enough to monitor the situation. The food was incredible—rice mixed with beans and vegetables, handmade tortillas, and some kind of spiced meat that made my eyes water in the best way.

Ty dropped down beside me. “You know, you could actually join the party instead of doing your lone wolf thing.”

“I’m fine here.”

“Sure you are.” He took a bite of tortilla. “This is amazing. When’s the last time we got fed home-cooked food on a mission?”

I watched Lauren laughing at something one of the women said, her head thrown back, completely at ease. The setting sun caught her hair, turning it gold, and for a moment, she looked like she belonged here more than anywhere I’d ever seen someone belong.

“She’s not going to leave willingly,” I said.

“Nope.” Ty followed my gaze. “Can you blame her? She’s got a whole community here. People who care about her, need her. When’s the last time any of us had that?”

I didn’t answer because the truth was too pathetic. Never. I’d never had what Lauren had built here in six months. Even in the Marines, where bonds ran deep, I’d kept myself separate. Safe.

One of the women called out to me, gesturing at the empty spot beside Lauren. I shook my head, holding up my half-empty plate like that explained everything. The woman shook her head disapprovingly but didn’t push.

“You know they’re all trying to matchmake, right?” Ty grinned. “Small village, pretty American doctor, mysterious stranger rides into town… It’s like a telenovela.”

“We’re leaving in a week.”

“Less, if the weather turns.” He studied me. “That bother you?”

“Why would it?”

“Oh, I don’t know. Maybe because you’ve been staring at a certain doctor like that doctor is water and you’ve been crawling through the desert.”

“I’ll stop staring at Dr. Williams. Didn’t mean to make him uncomfortable.” I stood abruptly as Ty chuckled. “I’m going to check the perimeter.”

“It’s a clinic, not a firebase.”

But I was already walking away, stressed and needing distance from the warmth and laughter and the way Lauren fit so perfectly into this life she’d built. Ty was right—I could see why she didn’t want to leave. This wasn’t just a job for her. It was home.

Which made my job that much harder.

Just before dawn, the world was painted in shades of gray and silver. I sat on the flat roof of the schoolhouse, rifle across my lap, watching the jungle wake up. Birds called to each other in the canopy, and somewhere in the distance, howler monkeys started their morning chorus.

This was my favorite time—when the world was quiet enough that my brain could settle. No crowds, no unexpected noises, no social situations to navigate. Just me and the gradually lightening sky.

The ladder creaked, and Ty’s head appeared through the access hatch. “You’re up early.”

“You’re late. Shift change was five minutes ago.”

“Sue me.” He hauled himself onto the roof, carrying two cups of coffee. “Thought you might want caffeine before I exile you to attempt sleep.”

I accepted the cup gratefully. The coffee was bitter and strong, exactly what I needed.

“Anything interesting on the night watch?” Ty settled beside me, scanning the tree line with practiced eyes.

“Negative. Few vehicles on the main road around 0200, but they didn’t stop. Probably farmers heading to the early market.”

“Good. Quiet is good.” He paused, then added carefully, “You could grab a few more hours of sleep. I’ve got this.”

“I’m good here.”

“When’s the last time you got more than four hours?”

I shrugged. Sleep meant dreams, and dreams meant Carter’s blood on my hands, the weight of his body as life drained out of him. Better to stay awake, stay useful.

Ty was quiet for a moment, then said, “You know, I noticed something during that call with the Valentinos the other day.”

Every muscle in my body tensed.

“The way you reacted when the dad was getting agitated. Classic trigger response.”

“I’m fine.”

“I’m not saying you’re not.” His voice stayed easy, conversational. “I’m saying I get it. We’ve all got our things.”

“My things don’t affect mission performance.”

“Jesus, Logan. I’m not filing a performance review. I’m just…talking. Like humans do sometimes.”

I took a long sip of coffee, buying time. “What do you want me to say?”

“Nothing. I’m just saying I noticed, and if you ever want to talk about it…” He shrugged. “Or not. But you don’t have to white-knuckle it alone.”

“Appreciate the concern, but I’m good.”

“Yeah, because taking every overseas assignment for the past year screams mentally healthy .”

That hit closer to home than I liked. Had I been unconsciously avoiding stateside work? The missions blurred together—Colombia, Somalia, Ukraine, now here. Always moving, always working, always in situations where PTSD was an asset instead of a liability.

“Crowds, confined spaces with civilians trigger me. Put me in a firefight, and I’m solid. Put me in a shopping mall…” I shrugged.

“Backward PTSD. Combat is safe, peace is dangerous.”

“Something like that.”

Ty nodded slowly. “My thing is kids crying. Specifically, babies. Takes me right back to Mosul, this apartment complex that got hit. We were doing search and rescue, and this baby just wouldn’t stop crying.

Found out later it was because its mother was…

” He stopped, took a breath. “Anyway. Can’t handle crying babies now.

Makes date night at the movies real interesting. ”

We sat in comfortable silence after that, watching the sun creep higher. I appreciated that he’d shared without expecting me to reciprocate with details. The outline was enough. We both carried ghosts.

“I should check on things,” Ty said eventually. “Make sure Jace hasn’t hacked into any government satellites for fun.”

He headed for the ladder, then paused. “For what it’s worth, I think you’re doing good. The job, the mission…all of it.”

Before I could respond, he was gone, leaving me alone with the sunrise and the weight of unspoken words. Below, the clinic began stirring to life. The generator coughed to a start, doors opened, voices called morning greetings.

Lauren emerged from the building carrying her own cup of coffee, hair still mussed from sleep. She moved to a bench in the small garden area, facing the jungle, and just sat. No phone, no book, just her and the morning and whatever thoughts occupied that brilliant mind.

I wanted to climb down and join her. Wanted to sit on that bench and share the peaceful morning, maybe apologize for calling her naive. Tell her I understood why this place meant everything to her.

But that wasn’t why I was here. I wasn’t here to make friends or share coffee or wonder what it would be like to be the kind of man who could fit into her world of healing and hope. I was here to extract her safely, whether she appreciated it or not.

Still, I watched her for longer than I should have, memorizing the relaxed set of her shoulders, the way the early light caught in her hair. In a week or so, she’d be back in Chicago, safe in her parents’ penthouse, and this would all be a memory.

The thought shouldn’t have bothered me as much as it did.

Lauren lifted her cup to her lips, and I forced myself to look away, scanning the perimeter like I should have been doing all along. No threats visible, no unusual movement in the village. Just another quiet morning in a place that wouldn’t stay quiet much longer.

I had a job to do. Everything else—the what-ifs and the might-have-beens—was just noise.

Even if that noise was starting to sound a lot like regret.