Page 31 of Cyclone

He nudged her foot lightly with his. “What about you?”

I hesitated. My throat tightened, memories trying to claw their way free. I stared out at the desert instead.

“I grew up in a small town,” she said finally. “I’ve worked with the CIA for a long time. I married my college sweetheart right out of college. We had a beautiful daughter. He also worked for the CIA.” I swallowed hard. “We were after the senator because we knew how evil he was. Then everything changed.”

Cyclone nodded, his gaze steady but gentle.

“No pressure,” he said. “We all got chapters we ain’t ready to read out loud yet.”

I looked at him then, really looked, and saw the man beneath the soldier. He had quiet strength, maybe a little battered but not broken.

“Thanks,” I said quietly.

We sat in companionable silence, the desert night creeping in around us, cool and vast and full of unspoken things.

Somewhere in the distance, a coyote howled.

And for the first time in a long time, I didn’t feel so alone.

17

Jude

The last light drained from the sky, leaving the ranch bathed in silver shadows. I yawned behind my hand and stretched, feeling the soreness of the day’s work settle deep into my bones.

“Why don’t you get some rest?” Cyclone said, tossing his empty water bottle into a nearby trash can.

I smiled tiredly. “I could sleep for a week.”

We wandered back inside, our footsteps echoing on the dusty floors. I paused in the hallway, glancing toward the two small bedrooms. I knew only one of them had a bed in it—and barely at that. The mattress was old, probably lumpy, and I didn’t have extra sheets.

Cyclone noticed her hesitation.

“I can take the couch,” he said easily. “I’ve slept in worse places.”

I opened my mouth to argue, but the truth was, Iwantedthe bed. The ache in my back demanded it.

“You sure?” I asked quietly.

He grinned. “Positive. Besides, it’ll give me time to bond with my new pet spiders.”

I laughed, the tension between them easing. I pulled an old blanket from the hall closet and tossed it to him. “You’re braver than I am.”

We set about making our separate spaces for the night. Cyclone stretched out on the worn leather couch, his long legs hanging slightly off the edge. I disappeared into the bedroom, dragging the mattress closer to the window where at least a breeze could slip through the screen.

Minutes later, the house fell into a thick, heavy silence.

I lay staring at the cracked ceiling, sleep stubbornly refusing to come. My mind kept slipping back to Cyclone—to his easy smile, his quiet patience, the way he hadn’t pushed her when the memories threatened to drown her.

In the darkness, I whispered into the quiet, “Cyclone?”

A beat of silence. Then: “Yeah?”

“You okay out there?”

His chuckle floated through the cracked door. “I’m good, Jude. Go to sleep.”

I smiled to myself, a small, private thing.

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