Page 29 of The Fixer and the Fugitive

“Can’t you sew it up?” he asked, twisting his head to make puppy eyes at her.

“I only know how to make holes, not repair them,” she said. She bit her lip because he did look rather pathetic. “You’re turning green.”

“I’m too brown to turn green,” he said weakly.

“Then you’re turning olive. Maybe one of the team members will be a medic,” she suggested.

“But when will they get here?”

“He didn’t give a timeframe,” Celeste said. She reached for her phone to double check, though she knew already, when there was a knock at the door. They froze and stared at each other.

“Could that be them?”

“I suppose it’s possible, but knowing what I know of our lives, do you think fortune would be so kind?” She removed her gun from its holster and checked it.

“Were you wearing that while we hugged?” he exclaimed.

“Is there some rule against that?” she returned.

“Not a written one, but…rude.”

“Next time I’ll consult the ‘So You’re About to Hug A Terrorist’ chapter in the ‘Housing a Fugitive’ handbook,” she promised.

“Ex-terrorist,” he said.“EX.I was a double agent. Why does no one add that part?”

“I’ll be back. Sit tight,” she said.

“I find your sense of humor lacking,” he said, pressing a hand to his forehead.

Repressing a smile, she answered the door.

“Elliot,” she exclaimed, staring at him in wonder, almost seven feet of him as he towered over her in the doorway.

He held his hands up in supplication. “Not stalking you, I promise. I’m actually completely unfriendly and usually want nothing to do with newcomers.”

“I believe you,” she inserted and he snorted a laugh he immediately smoothed.

“I had a call up this way, and my wife has been worried about you.”

She squinted, trying to remember if she’d met his wife. “Do I know her?”

“No, but what I lack in people skills, she makes up for. She’sfriendly.” He grimaced and rolled his eyes. “Anyway, I promised her I would stop in and make certain you survived the night without power. It looks like you have, so I’ll be on my way.” He tugged his hat and turned to go.

“Wait,” she called before realizing she was going to. Maybe this was a mistake, but what choice did she have? Sam might be injured more severely than either of them realized, and that could be terribly inconvenient. She licked her lips and darted a glance toward the kitchen, an action that did not go unnoticed by Elliot who narrowed his good eye and took a step toward her.

“Is something wrong?” he asked in a tight whisper, his gaze also moving behind her. “Is someone in your house? Are you being held hostage?”

“In a manner of speaking,” she said, then realized he might not know she was joking. “No, not at all. I, um, I have a house guest and, um, he met with…an…unfortunate accident recently.”

His gaze narrowed again. Anymore and she was going to appear like a wavy squint. “Let me guess: he was shot.”

She nodded.

“Was he stealing Edward Jonas’s cattle?”

“It’s likely he doesn’t know the difference between a cow and a buffalo,” she said.

“I heard that,” Sam called weakly from the kitchen. Elliot’s ears pricked in that direction like an alert German Shepherd.

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