Page 58 of Operation: Chosen

And then she’d proceeded to make sure it never happened by marrying a man who could never love her.

It was early in the morning, light barely reached over the horizon, but someone would answer the phone in the office even with the time difference. She tugged her phone from her back pocket and pressed the contact. The phone rang loud in her ear. Once. Twice. Three times.

Amelia answered. “Ali. I have the office phone forwarded to my home phone.”

Ali cringed. She’d done that for the office too when there had been major clients who might need something in the middle of the night. “I’m sorry for waking you.”

“You’d better be on your way back. I’ve had to run second for you all this week, and I don’t want the job anymore.” Though Amelia was probably exhausted, she sounded as she always did, completely in control and monotone.

“I can’t. I just can’t make myself do it.”

“You can’tmakeyourself keep your job. That’s…interesting.” Her monotone morphed into slight derision. “Ali, pull up your big-girl pants and do what you need to do for you. You’ve never struggled with this. I shouldn’t even be having this conversation with you.”

“What if there’s more to life than just me?” Ali had never considered herself selfish for wanting to be safe and feel secure every moment, but now she saw the trap she’d stepped into. By needing her job to be the stability in her life, she’d allowed herself to be put in a position where she could be used for that need. “What if I want more than the nine-to-five?”

“Well, you’ll be stuck in the unemployment line if you don’t get that little sports car of yours back to the office.”

Ali snorted. “The sports car needs to go to the shop. I won’t be able to drive it for a while. Oh, and there aren’t shops on every corner out here, so it could be a while. I guess you’ll have to have HR send my discharge paperwork.”

Amelia was silent for a full minute. “You’re serious. Like, you’re not coming back?”

Maybe at some point she’d have to drive back and empty out her house and her desk. Though just thinking about going back to the city made knots form in her stomach. There might be more to her feelings of self-preservation than just the case. Maybe she wasn’t meant to live in the city.

“There must be something in that air out there,” Amelia mumbled, totally unlike her.

“I’ve stumped you. That’s interesting. And yeah, you should try it sometime. The wide-open spaces do something to your heart. It’s good.”

“Thanks, but I actually like my career.Namaste, my friend. Be sure to stop in to clean your desk and say hello at some point.” Amelia hung up the phone.

Ali closed her eyes as her knees screamed at her, reminding her she was on the floor and should get up soon. She’d be limping for a minute or two when she tried to walk. When she’d gone back to her cabin, she hadn’t felt sleepy in the slightest. The room never made her tired, but now her body felt heavy and ready for sleep. She hobbled to the living room, climbed up on the sofa, laid the plaque on the coffee table, and pulled one of the soft throw blankets over her and up to her chin. She drifted off to sleep to the sound of the men outside her window investigating the fire.

* * *

Eric’s footstepsdragged a little more than usual. He’d talked to Terrell, then to the other boys who’d reacted just as Terrell had predicted. They’d told Eric the fire was all Terrell. They’d had nothing to do with it. They’d claimed Terrell had come in and taken their monitors. Either both their stories matched exactly, like they’d practiced ahead of time, or they were telling the truth. He couldn’t immediately trust Terrell when it was possible he was the best liar of the three of them—not that Eric wanted to believe that.

One of the firefighters approached him with a clipboard. “Hey, Eric. I just wanted to confirm that the only things lit on fire were the bed and chair. Nothing else in the room was intentionally lit.”

Eric assumed as much from what he’d seen and nodded his agreement.

“You might be able to get a service to come out and get the smell out, but it’s not foolproof. Once a building has had smoke damage, it’s really hard to permanently get rid of the odor,” the firefighter told him.

Eric was too tired to think about the situation critically, and his time awake still felt like a waste. He hadn’t gotten the pictures he’d needed because of the different license plates. He hadn’t gotten any new information because he was hindered by the fact that he wasn’t a cop. He’d tried to get to the heart of what was wrong with Ali, but all he’d managed to do was drive a wedge between them when he’d forgiven her.

“Nothing I say is really working out the way I planned today. You might want to talk to Connor if you need information. He owns the cabin anyway.”

The firefighter nodded and gripped his shoulder above the cast. “I just wanted to tell you that you all did a good job. Thanks for making sure that fire extinguishers were on hand and up-to-date. Who knows what situation we would’ve arrived to if you hadn’t.” He squeezed once more, then turned away.

Eric glanced up and down the row of houses, but Ali was nowhere to be found. He’d hoped that after she’d had a few minutes to think about what he’d said, that she would come back and find him so they could talk. He wasn’t about to take away his offer of forgiveness, but she needed to understand that it was meant to free her, not bind her, as it had seemed to.

Connor trudged toward him. “Brendon is waiting for an update in his office. I’ve spoken to the fire chief, and he knows how to reach me if they need anything else. Now we need to figure out what we’re going to do before I call Micha back about the boys.”

Exhaustion pulled on Eric, but he trudged after Connor. He wasn’t twenty anymore. An awake night wouldn’t have bothered him even ten years before, but in his forties, he couldn’t do all the things he’d done then. Or at least not as often.

They headed into Brendon’s office and settled into the chairs. Brendon was the only man on Wayside Ranch who didn’t look like a cowboy, ever. He wore polo or button-up shirts. He wore khaki pants instead of jeans. He would occasionally wear a cowboy hat when he rode a horse, but that had been rare lately.

“Brendon, you look pensive.” Connor grinned. “Wonder why that could be.”

“Might be the paperwork you left on my desk last night. I don’t think this is a good candidate,” he mumbled, shoving the folder in front of him to the side.

---