“Mr. Grafton,” one of the students asked, breaking his train of thought, “Do you want to buy some band candy? We are trying to get new uniforms.”

Shaking away the thoughts of the men loitering outside, he asked her how much she had, then handed her a twenty-dollar bill to buy the full box. She set the box on his desk with a big smile and pocketed the cash. As he slipped it into the bottom desk drawer, she noticed that it was full of other boxes of band candy. She guessed that he’d bought a box from every student that asked him.

Seeing the look on her face, he said, “I’ll buy two more boxes from other students today, and next week I’ll buy some more from other students.” He also made a mental note to talk with the band instructor to see how much they needed for their budget. Like most schools, they never quite had enough to cover expenses, but unlike many of the other schools in the area, they were seldom able to cover the gap. These kids held so much promise but had been written off in so many ways.

He still had a few more minutes before the bell rang, so he walked back over to the window. The people that had been loitering around previously were no longer in sight, so after scanning the area one last time, Gunny walked back to his desk at the front of the room, slid out his chair and sat down. He organized the papers that needed to be handed out and set the outline for the class in the middle of the desk.

Time whisked past and before he knew it, the classroom was full, and the bell was ringing. Probably because of his Marine training, he started the class almost before the echo of the bell died. At first, students complained about him not giving them a moment to get settled… most would take the bell as a signal to go to class. He’d explained that in HIS class, the bell meant it was time learn, not time to get ready. “You’re using MY time after that bell rings,” he explained on his first solo day, five minutes into class. But over the last several weeks, the students had figured out that he was serious, and were generally sitting in their desks, notebooks and pens out and ready to go when the bell rang.

“Today we are going to talk about the former satellite states of the old Soviet Union. We’ll start with the western-most countries and then move our way east,” he began. But before he could begin talking about the individual countries, he heard a popping sound from the hallway. A murmur broke out in the class. A few of the students looked visibly nervous, wondering what the sound was… it sounded like fireworks.

“Ok, class, I need everyone to calm down,” Gunny said from the front of the room. To him, the popping that they thought might be fireworks had the distinct ring of an AK-47. He quickly made his way to the door to check out what was going on. He peered first to his left, and then to his right down the hallway, noticing two people in the hallway to the right.

Harv picked her up in the kind of hug she’d always wished for from her father. She could see when she looked at him how proud he was. Karie’s murder had brought the two of them together with a common goal to find the person that had done it.

“I am unbelievably proud of you Melody,” Harv said, swinging her around. “I am assuming you didn’t change your position and invite your parents.”

“No… having you here is the best I could hope for, Harv,” she said before hugging Karl, which she found to be a little on the awkward side since he hadn’t even called after their night together.

“Let’s go get dinner… I have news,” Harv beamed at her. “Several different pieces of news.”

***

The three of them were huddled around a table in the French Quarter; the small restaurant being exclusive, expensive and notoriously difficult to get into. As the family style meal was served, Harv was beside himself. Karl was just as clueless as Melody about what he was going to say.

“Out with it, Dad, you’re killing us here,” he joked.

“We have a person of interest in Karie’s murder. And it is completely due to items you unearthed, Melody… and connected together. His name is John Constanti. Italian national, important family. Passport control has him entering the country a couple of weeks before each of the eight murders we have connected to him, and leaving the day after five of them, two days after the other three.”

“Are you going to pick him up?” Melody asked.

“That is where it gets sticky. With the depth of his family connections, if we let it slip that we are looking at him for something like this, he might just disappear. We have had his name for a week… and if he stays true to pattern, he should be back in the US in the next month or two.”

“I hope you get him, Harv… for Karie. She deserves the justice,” Melody said.

“Wow, I had no idea you guys had been working on this for the last four years. I hope you can nail that guy,” Karl said.

“Which brings me to the other piece of news… I want to offer you a job. With you completing the psych degree, I can get you into the profiling department. They already know who you are… do you want to do it?”

“Wow… I hadn’t even thought about that,” she said, leaning back in her chair.

“Think about it… it’s at Quantico. We have a basic class going through the academy in three weeks. I would love to have you in it… When you get done, you’ll have a spot on the team I’m putting together. It won’t be easy, but I know you can do it.”

He tapped the button on the side of his watch and took off at a full run. He headed toward the Colonial Parkway, then turned and ran toward Jamestown. It was about a half mile to the parkway, then he would run seven miles up the road, turn and run back.

On an early Saturday in February, there wasn’t much traffic. There were a few bicycles out… he passed a family biking the parkway on his way back. He had a few others pass him. Jakob preferred the solitude of running alone. It used to leave him with his thoughts, but over the last few weeks he had picked up his pace to try to outrun his thoughts. More than anything else, he still wondered what had happened. The crushed remains of his heart still beat for Mali, but he couldn’t face her.

For a week after she left him standing alone in that restaurant, his proposal hanging in the air, he’d tried to call her. He’d stopped by her dorm, but he had never made it past Mackenzie. She had been as hard to get around as Cerberus. She intercepted every call and every attempt to catch her coming or going from the dorm.

He could see the hurt in Mac’s eyes, too. She wanted him and Mali to sit down and talk, to talk about what had happened. Mac was just as confused as he was. But she was loyal to her friend. Mali had told her that she couldn’t face him yet, and Mac stepped into the role of protector. She might plead with her every night to reconsider, but by day she would do as her friend asked.

Mac had often wished during that week that she could just sweep Jakob into her arms and kiss away his pain, but she knew she couldn’t. He still loved Mali, and more than that, Mac knew that Jakob wasn’t who she wanted… but she still liked him.

After the first week, his roommate finally convinced him to let it go. Jakob’s hurt had matured into anger over that week. He stopped calling her and trying to visit her. He put his head down and just went to class. Dorm, class, study… that was it.

A couple of weeks later he got his first message back from her. She wanted to talk. But he couldn’t face her. He didn’t want to face her. He didn’t know what he would say to her or what she could possibly say to him. He ducked her calls. After catching a glimpse of her waiting for him outside of his class building, he altered his route to and from classes so that she couldn’t catch him by surprise.

His roommate wasn’t as loyal as Mac, so he just stopped answering the phone, stopped leaving the dorm. Except to run.

But try though he might, he could never outrun his past. Sometimes she was behind him, and he was running from her, other times he ran toward her. But the more he thought about her, the harder he ran trying to forget and erase the pain.

Two hours and twelve minutes.

He stopped his watch and walked into the dorm. He went up to his room, alone for the weekend since his roommate was gone, and took a long hot shower, still trying to clear his mind. After a long leisurely shower, he sat down at his desk to study and complete his homework for the week. His phone rang a few times, but he ignored it.

There was a knock at the door. Ty Connor, from down the hall stuck his head in, “Yo, Jake, there is some hot milf downstairs that’s here to see you. And she isn’t taking no for an answer. I tried to dissuade her, but she said she saw your car, and in ten minutes she said she was coming up. So… can you go deal with that?”

“What does she look like?”

“Blonde, petite, seriously hot. And she has a basket of cookies.”

“Tell her you don’t know where I am, Ty. I don’t want to talk to her.”

Ty closed the door behind him, and Jakob could hear him walking back down the hall. He flipped the book open again and started reading the next module for Calculus. He’d already finished all the assigned exercises, but he decided to do the others at the end of the last chapter. He still didn’t have a full grasp on a couple of the concepts.

The door flew open a minute after he started on the calculus and Nicole Richter strode in like she owned the building. There were a few catcalls from the hallway as she closed the door and crossed the room toward him.

“How did you get past the RA?”

“Two cookies and a cupcake. That was not tough at all.”

“Look, Nicole, I don’t want to talk to her right now. I don’t know what I would say, nor what she could possibly say to me,” Jakob said, turning to look at her.

“Jakob, I’m not here for Mali. She would probably kill me if she knew I was here. I’m here for you. It’s lunch time. Let me take you to lunch somewhere, and you and I can talk about you.”

“Really, Nicole? She didn’t put you up to this?”

“Jakob, I swear she did not. You are my friend. I really like you. For you… not as an adjunct to Mali. I certainly want the two of you to be together, because you are miserable apart, but that isn’t why I came here. You need to talk with someone… and I can be that someone for you.”

“Fine,” Jakob said, rising from his chair, pulling off his sweatshirt to put on something nicer.

“You been working out?” Nicole said, whistling. “Seriously, you are downright ripped.”

“I’ve been running. I did fifteen miles this morning. Two hours, thirteen. New personal best.”

“Well let’s go fatten you up a little bit… you need some replacement calories,” Nicole joked. She took his arm as they walked out the door. She had left the basket of cookies and cupcakes on his bed.

“Hey, Mrs. Richter, anytime you want to come by, feel free…” the RA said as they passed.

“Thank you, Charles. I’ll be sure to send some more of the cookies out to you sometime.”

“Yes, ma’am,” was the enthusiastic reply.

He closed up his footlocker and rolled it over.  Grabbing his knife off the counter, he popped off the metal strapping around the bottom.  He tore off a piece of duct tape and stuck the card in the middle of it, then reassembled it.  He quickly undressed and slipped into his bunk.  His five o’clock call was only three hours away. 

***

The Afghani soldier that was driving the squad stopped the HMMWV outside the squat building southeast of downtown Kandahar.  They had a report of an insurgent cell trying to assemble improvised explosive devices, and he was bringing out a Special Forces team, along with a squad of Afghani Security Forces soldiers.  He was training the ASF soldiers. 

The Ranger team led the raid, breaching through the side of the building.  His squad was at the opposite end of the building to mop up on anything at their end. 

“Green, do a secondary breach and bring your squad in from the west end.  We’re in position to catch,” was the call over the radio. 

“Roger that, Sergeant,” Green replied to the change in tactics.  He turned to his ASF contact.  He translated and ordered his men through the breach, Green on their tail. 

A moment later he rounded a corner.  He heard the popping of an AK-47, the sound distinct from the M-4s the US and ASF soldiers were using.  He scrambled backwards as several rounds hit his plates, crab walking as fast as he could. 

“Mr. Green,” Rafi, the ASF translator said, looking at him with worry in his eyes.  “Can you hear me?”

“Yeah… I’m good.  Took it in the plates,” he replied. 

“No, Mr. Green.  You’re hit,” Rafi said.  He turned to a couple of the ASF soldiers.  Green heard him shouting in Pashto. 

The men he yelled to grabbed Green, dragging him further back.  He tried to protest, but everything started to fade.  He was getting confused.  Rafi took the radio from his belt and he heard him talking but couldn’t make out the words.  The world went black. 

***

Sharif Hussain was right behind Green as he rounded a corner into the main room of the commercial building.  As he cleared the corner, he saw the muzzle flashes.  Looking up, he was positive that the uniform of the soldier shooting was American.  Then he saw the soldier toss the gun at a downed insurgent. 

As they scrambled back, Sharif could see that Green was struggling.  When he was able to look at him, he saw that he’d been hit, blood oozing from his shoulder next to a plate.  The American was operating on adrenaline.

“Ahmed, Begum, take Green to the HMMWV.  We need to get him out,” he shouted to two of his men. 

“But the medic…”

“Do what I said.” 

The two ASF soldiers grabbed Green by his battle-rattle and pulled him out of the line of fire.  Two more men grabbed his legs and hauled him toward the back of their vehicle.  Rafi followed them out, the building exploding in their wake, blowing the armored transport onto its side, and throwing the ASF soldiers across the courtyard.

Sharif ignored everything as he ordered the downed soldier to an Afghan hospital only a few blocks away.  His men picked him up and ran out of the other side of the courtyard and down the street.  They carried him six blocks to the ER entrance, carrying him inside to meet the stretcher coming to get him.  One of the men cut the plate carrier and other protective gear off him as he was rushed to surgery.  From the time he was hit until he was in surgery was less than ten minutes.  His heart had stopped eight minutes in. 

“No ‘I’m fine’ crap.  We’re going to get x-rays,” she said, backing out of the bed and crossing to the bathroom to brush her teeth and get ready. 

“I’m not going to argue with you, not after last night’s performance with our parents.  I’m still dying to know what my mom said to you before we came up for bed.”

“Do you want to brush your teeth… can you even do it?  I can help, or we can just skip it,” Callie called from the bathroom.

“I can do it.  I’ll just figure out how to be left-handed.”  Colt rolled and spun to a sitting position.  His right arm hugging his bruised ribs, he stood and went to his dresser, pulling out some fresh clothes.

Callie came back to his side to help him get dressed, then jogged down the hall to her room to grab some fresh clothes for herself.  When she returned, Colt was leaned against the counter in the bathroom brushing his teeth.  She hurried him up and helped him down the stairs. 

Twenty minutes later they were in an urgent care center, Colt undressing in order to have his ribs x-rayed.  The doctor was unsure if he had a bad bruise or cracked ribs, but dismissed Colt saying it was no big deal.  Callie never left his side.  Luckily, even with the holiday weekend, the small medical center wasn’t crowded. 

“Mr. Dixon,” the doctor said, walking back into the room, “you indeed have three broken ribs on your right side.  With ribs, there aren’t a lot of treatment options.  Ice, rest, pain killers.”  He turned to Callie, “Mrs. Dixon, you need to keep him resting.  He can gradually return to exercise after a few weeks.  If William continues to have more intense pain after a week to ten days, you need to bring him back in, ok?”

“Thank you, Doctor,” Callie said, her smile evident to Colt despite the mask on the bottom half of her face. 

“Those ATV injuries suck, William.  I suggest not hopping back on for at least six to eight weeks.  Take care, got it?” 

“Yes, Sir, thank you,” Colt replied as the doctor swooped back out of the room, replaced by a nurse to lead them to the payment desk.  Callie slipped Colt’s credit card out and paid, Colt scribbling his signature as he winced a little. 

She drove him back to the house and helped him back to the family room.  Settling him on the couch, she went to get an ice pack as Amy came down the stairs to see where they’d been. 

“Someone was too macho yesterday to mention that he had broken ribs.  We went to the doctor this morning to get x-rays.  When he was in the shower last night, there wasn’t even a bruise, but this morning, this,” Callie explained to Amy as she unbuttoned Colt’s shirt and showed off the mass of black and blue from his injury. 

“I didn’t think it was that bad,” Colt said defensively. 

“Thank you, Callie,” Amy said, hugging her.

Callie went back to the kitchen to put something together for breakfast for her and Colt, while Amy sat on the couch next to her son as he held the cold pack on his side. 

“She’s good for you, Colt.” 

“I know, Mom.”

“When are you going to ask her?”

“I had been kind of planning to do that when we got back here.  Life got in the way.  I thought about doing it when we were back in Virginia, but I wanted her mom here for her when I asked.  I don’t want Nancy to feel like we’re stealing her daughter away from her,” Colt replied. 

Amy leaned over and kissed her son on the cheek, “You’re a good boy, Colt… man.  You aren’t my little boy anymore, as I was reminded by Callie last night.”  Amy smiled.  That reminder had been unexpected. 

When her son and his girlfriend came down the stairs after she helped him shower, as well as cleaned and bandaged his wounds, all three of the parents were shocked.  Each of them had assumed they were intimate, but there was no question after they left to shower together. 

Callie had stood up to withering questioning from Nancy, and when her mother had tried to lay the blame on Colt, Callie defended him admirably, earning Amy’s respect, and changing her mother’s opinion. 

“No, Mom, Colt didn’t trick me or seduce me or anything else.  We waited until we were ready.  It was a mutual decision.  You can choose to accept it or not but know that it won’t change how Colt and I live our lives,” Callie had told her mother.  “We may be your children, but we are no longer children in any other regard.”

“We are both adults.  We love each other, and we are not acting like reckless kids.  If you want to tell us we can’t be open under your roof, that’s fine.  That is your right.  It won’t change how we feel, though,” Colt had added.

Amy had been quick to accept them.  She understood the differences between Callie and Colt, versus her and Jonathan.  She and her husband had been virgins when they started dating.

“What did you tell her last night?” Colt asked. 

“That I accepted her because I knew she loved you, Colt.  She is strong, and I think she may be the woman that you need… one that is willing to stand up for you, and to you.”

A moment later Callie appeared.  She wanted to know if Colt wanted to eat where he was… she could get him a TV tray… or if he wanted to come to the table.  Amy and Callie helped him up and to the table so he could have breakfast.  After getting her son to the kitchen table, Amy retreated to her bedroom to let Jack know that his son’s ribs had been broken, but that Callie was taking care of him.