Page 5 of The Fixer and the Fugitive

“What brings you to Paradise?”

“Retirement.”

His brows rose, assessing her age and—rightly—thinking she looked young to be retired. She was, but assassins had their own timeline. Instead of remarking on her age, he gazed out over the orchard. “It’s funny, I’ve lived here my whole life and never been here, even thought my parents told me a lot of stories about it.” He motioned a hand toward the decrepit barn. “Any plans to bring it back to life?”

She also gazed at the barn and repressed a sigh. All of the equipment was still there; it had come with the house. “Would that I knew how.”

“Ah. Well, I’m sure you’ll get lots of advice around town. Whether you’ll find it helpful or not is up to you.”

“I’m not much of a townie,” she said, an understatement. She planned on being Unabomber levels of unavailable to the local populace. It was sort of the whole point of moving here.

Elliot snickered and coughed when her glance slid questioningly back to him. “Sorry. It’s just…Paradise might have other ideas about that.”

“I don’t think it’s up to them,” she said.

His smile was definitely wry this time. “If you figure out how to stop them, tell me how.” He touched the brim of his cap—an actual cowboy hat—and gave her a little nod. “It was nice to meet you, Celeste. I’m sure I’ll see you again sometime. Feel free to call if you need anything or have questions.”

She didn’t reiterate that she would neither need anything nor have questions. No need to further his amusement at her expense. When she failed to show up in town, he’d soon figure out that she wanted to be left alone. And so would the rest of the town. “Thank you,” she forced herself to say. Polite manners were another thing she’d had to teach herself, in order to function in society. They were another way to blend in. People noticed abrupt rudeness much more than niceness, at least in America.

After Elliot drove away, Celeste meandered to the barn, staring around with something that felt a bit like panic. There were machines and equipment she couldn’t begin to name. At first she’d been excited; it had seemed like a bonanza. But then as she tried each piece of machinery and failed to make it go, her enthusiasm dimmed. Then began to turn to a bit of despair. Should she sell it? Could she sell it when nothing worked?

She walked to each piece, attempting again to turn it on, in case some magic had happened between the last time and now. As before, nothing worked. Her last stop was the giant tractor. She climbed atop it and turned the key. It made no sound, not even the semblance of turning over. She remained sitting a few moments, imagining that it worked, that she drove it out of the barn and attempted to use it.

I am country now,she told herself, but the words wouldn’t stick. They slid off her and splattered uselessly to the ground. She was not country. She was not an assassin any longer, was no longer even in the army. What was she? She was afraid to findthe answer, afraid it might be the same as before The Colonel pulled her out of obscurity. Afraid she had gone back to the same nothing trash heap she started from.

Chapter 4

She would have to leave for supplies. There was nothing for it. While she’d hoped to have everything delivered, thereby saving her the pain of human interaction, she found it nearly impossible. Only after she ordered her fourth box of canned food—and failed to have it delivered—did she learn there were two Paradise, Montanas. One was on the map. Hers wasn’t. Delivery companies scratched their heads when she gave them her location. Not even Google Maps had heard of her whereabouts.

She sat in her shiny SUV for fifteen full minutes before she could garner the courage to start the car and drive it.I’m going to town,she pep talked herself.Groceries, that’s all. In and out. I’ve gotten groceries a hundred times. No one will notice my presence. I don’t have to talk to a soul.

On the way to the town’s lone market she spotted the library and, before she knew what she was going to do, pulled into a parking spot.I am at the library. What is happening?In Celeste’s pre-assassin life, she would have beaten herself up for even considering a stop at the library. But her new role as plant ambassador left her feeling a bit desperate. Maybe they hadbooks on trees. Maybe those books would give her some clue what she should do with them.

In any case, she was curious about the adorably tiny little building, so little it looked like a miniature library, like it should go with an adjoining dollhouse. Before she could talk herself out of it, she unbuckled and hopped from the SUV, resisting the urge to roll her shoulders and take a look around.No competition here, no one gunning for you. You’re safe.Still, she’d feel better once she was inside and not so exposed. She opened the door, took a step toward the rows of books, and that was when she heard it.

“Psst, New Girl.” Someone was whispering at her. She spun and saw one of the most handsome men she had ever encountered in real life, all six feet blond hair and blue eyes of him. He was smiling cordially. At her. He raised his hand and added a friendly wave. “I’m Tony, Elliot’s dad.”

She did a site-gag-double-take worthy of a Bugs Bunny cartoon. “Holy geez, you must be joking. Did you have him when you were five?” There was no way this guy had a son as old as Elliot had seemed.

“Seventeen. Stay in school, kids. Although I actually did, because I basically abandoned his mom and left her high and dry a couple of decades before I got my act together.”

Celeste blinked at him.

“I’m spewing a lot of deeply personal information at you, huh?”

She nodded.

“Care to return the favor?” he asked, somewhat hopefully, she thought.

She shook her head.

“Probably a good call.” He cupped his hands around his mouth and added a loudly whispered aside. “I’m the town gossip.”

She continued to stare at him, uncertain how to make a safe and speedy exit.

“This is where you back away slowly,” he added helpfully, fluttering his fingers at her in a “shoo” motion.

No one had to tell her twice. She back stepped a few times until she was swallowed by the stacks. And then she faced a new problem: she had no idea how to locate anything in a library. It was likely they’d tried to teach her once or twice in school, but she definitely hadn’t paid attention. She stared at the tidy rows of books, tilting her head to read some of the spines. How hard would it be to find a few books about fruit?

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