Page 42 of Hunter

“I—” He shrugged. “It seems like the right thing to do.”

“Good instincts,” she whispered, wanting to lay her hand on his arm. Instead, she picked up the turner.

He watched her work for a moment, then went back to the television set—leaving her alone again. As she often did when she felt lonely or emotional, she began to hum and then to sing. She picked a folk song she’d learned long ago at camp, a song that took its words from the book of Ecclesiastes inThe Bible.Not the version that Pete Seeger had adapted but one that was more faithful to the original text.

To every thing there is a season

And a time to every purpose under heaven.

A time to be born, and a time to die

A time to kill and a time to heal

A time to weep, and a time to laugh.

While the pancakes cooked, she poured the coffee and added milk and sugar to hers.

“How do you want your coffee?” she asked.

“How can I have it?”

“With milk and sugar. With just milk. Or just sugar. Or black.

“Milk and sugar sound good,” he said wistfully

Maybe they’d never offered it to him any way but black, she thought, turning away to open the refrigerator.

“Are you angry at me?” she asked as she set down the plate of pancakes.

“No,” he denied.

“Why wouldn’t you look at me this morning?”

“I—” he stopped, swallowed. “I’m not used to. . . conversation.”

She knew that was part of the truth. She wouldn’t press him for the rest. Silently, she handed him a plate, then watched him enjoy breakfast. Cooking for him on a regular basis would be very gratifying, she thought, then warned herself not to think in those terms.

After they carried their plates to the sink, she touched his arm and looked down the hall toward the tape recorder.Let’s go outside so we can talk,she mouthed, thinking that it was convenient that at least one of them could read lips.

He nodded and followed her into the yard.

Last night, she’d wondered about the wisdom of trusting him with her plans. This morning she’d decided that she needed his help. Yet she still didn’t know how much she could tell him.

“What do you want to say?” he asked.

She ran a hand through her hair. “I need some background on the senior staff, so I have a better idea of what’s going on here.”

“I can get that for you.”

She stared at him. “How?”

“I have a computer session this afternoon. I can download personnel files onto a thumb drive to use in your laptop.” He paused, considering. “Do not . . . don’t transfer the files to your hard drive. Leave them on the thumb drive and erase the data when you are finished.”

Relieved, she grinned at him. “What other talents do you have that I don’t know about?

“I’m an expert mountain climber. I have a black belt in Karate. I am qualified on many types of personal firearms and knives. I am certified as an emergency medical technician. I speak five languages fluently. I can drive a car. I heard Dr. Swinton say that in one of my brilliant careers before I died, I was a decathlon champion.”

Chapter Seven

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