Page 67 of The Fixer and the Fugitive

Celeste nodded.

“What did he say?” he asked.

“He had some intel that we might soon be in trouble,” she said, tossing him a wry smile as another shot rang out.

“How good is his intel?” Sam asked, smiling when she laughed out loud. He reached over and took her hand. “Do you have an extra gun? I’m a pretty good shot but my gun’s upstairs.”

“I think I could rustle one up for you,” Celeste said. She closed the gap between them and kissed him. “I don’t want you to go.”

“Are you only saying that because you think we’re going to die?” he asked, stroking his finger on her cheek.

“No.”

“I don’t think my presence here is helping you. I don’t want to pressure you or push you into something you’re not ready for,” he said.

She took a breath and rested her head on his chest. As she lay down, she caught sight of her journal, lying sad and discarded on the floor. She closed her eyes and forced herself to begin.

“My name isn’t Celeste.”

Sam’s hand froze on her head. “It’s…not?”

She shook her head. “I mean, it kind of is, but it wasn’t originally. It wasn’t my birth name.”

“Are you allowed to tell me what that was?”

She took another breath and made herself look at him. “Nevaeh.”

“Heaven spelled backwards,” he noted.

She nodded, smiling sadly. “It was an ironic name choice for parents who never wanted me.” A shot pinged off the siding and she sat up with a huff of frustration. “Hold on a minute.”

He watched as she walked to the entry closet and pressed her hand to a spot beside it. A panel sprang open. She typed a code and another door opened, another closet. Perhaps closet was the wrong word; an arsenal sprang open. Forgetting that peoplewere actively trying to kill them, Sam popped up and came to a halt beside her, openmouthed.

“Wha…” he began, but that was as far as he got.

“You’re not the only one with enemies, not the only one being hunted. I wanted to be prepared.” She selected a couple of guns and some ammo, turning to him in invitation. “See anything that looks good?”

“Wha…” he stammered again.

“This one is good,” she supplied, handing him a gun and an extra clip of ammo before closing the armory.

Sam sat hard on the floor, staring at the gun in his grasp, only half cognizant of how it got there. Meanwhile Celeste moved to a window and stared outside. That got his attention.

“What are you doing? Get away from the window,” he exclaimed. He tensed, ready to spring and tackle her to safety, but she turned to him with a smile.

“They’re bullet proof. I had them put in before I moved in,” she said. As if to prove her words, someone outside shot at the window. The bullet repelled and bounced away as if it were rubber.

“Still, I’d feel more comfortable if you weren’t making yourself a target,” Sam said. He patted the space beside him.

She sat and pulled her knees up to her chest. “There’s only one truck. I can’t see inside it. Maybe they’re waiting for reinforcements. I can’t imagine they would come unarmed, knowing what they know about you. And what they don’t know about me. It seems like a good idea to wait a bit and let them tire themselves out.”

“Okay. Why did you change your name from Nevaeh?” Sam said. He didn’t care about the men outside. He’d spent too much of his life running and hiding, pretending to be someone he wasn’t. He had no plans to leave Paradise, now or ever again.If Komeni wanted him, he’d have to come and take him. Until then, he wanted to know about Celeste.

“I only have vague memories of my parents. It’s like I can sort of see them, but it’s as if I’m only seeing their reflections by staring in a pond and there are all these ripples, distorting everything. I know for certain they were wholly unprepared for a child. They were never even together, not really. A fling that turned into a baby that was easily flung away. My mom abandoned me three times. The state kept giving me back. It wasn’t until the fourth time that a police officer intervened. Apparently the state wanted to give me back again and he put his foot down, made them come get me, and take me somewhere else.”

“Where did you go?” Sam asked softly. He didn’t want to interrupt the flow of her memories, but she stopped talking and he both wanted and needed her to keep going.

“Foster care. It’s true that people only want to adopt babies. By the time I was processed and my parents’ rights were terminated, I was far past being a baby. No one wanted me at that point. I bounced from home to home, never connecting. I can’t say any of my foster parents were neglectful or abusive. They provided my basic needs: some food, some clothes, a place to sleep. But none of them went over and above, none of them loved me or trained me or invested in me in any way. I got a basic education from school, I learned to read and write and do basic math. But no one ever taught me how to function outside of that.”

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