Forced to Kill

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Authors: Andrew Peterson
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didn’t have to.
    “We don’t have to look at it.”
    “Somehow that seems… I don’t know…”
    “Cowardly?”
    “I wasn’t going to use that word, but yeah.”
    “Truth be told, I’m a little uneasy too.”
    “We’ll get through this. It’s just a body.”
    They looked at each other. No, it wasn’t just a body . Far from it. More like a malevolent version of Alice’s looking glass. A portal to a dark chapter in both their lives. A chapter neither of them wanted to revisit. Maybe the Company shrink had it right after all. Maybe hatred is the strongest of all human emotions. Nathan had survived his torture by tapping into what seemed like an endless supply of it.
      “You okay?” Harv asked.
    “Huh?”
    “You looked lost in thought.”
    “Thinking about Montez.”
    “Don’t obsess, okay?”
    “I was starting to, thanks.”
    Harv refolded his chart, putting Salt Lake City in the center of his knee board. “What are friends for?”
    “I feel like there’s a time bomb in my head.”
    “There is a time bomb in your head.”
    “I was hoping for an argument.”
    They flew in silence for a few minutes.
    Harv said, “We ought to get on the horn to Salt Lake approach and request flight following from here on. It’s a beautiful day, there’re probably more than a few fixed wings around.”
    “Good idea.”
    South of Provo, Harv entered Salt Lake’s approach frequency into the NavCom and made contact. Harv entered the assigned squawk number into the transponder and hit the IDENT button. Salt Lake approach saw them on radar right away. The approach controller informed them of traffic at ten o’clock, climbing through 5,300. Harv acknowledged the call. A few minutes later, Salt Lake approach handed them off to the tower. Nathan made the approach while Harv worked the radio.
    An employee from Salt Lake’s Million Air jet center directed them to a transient parking area. After the main rotor wound down, they stepped onto terra firma and stretched. The Bell 407 was a comfortable ride, but sitting for long periods of time took its toll. He did a quick walk around the ship. Everything looked good.
    “There she is!” Harv said.
    He turned toward the jet center, where Special Agent Mary Grangeland had just stepped through the sliding glass doors.
    “Easy,” Harv said, “you’re staring.”
    “I can’t help it.”
    Grangeland waved.
    Her lean physique, blue eyes, and blond hair made for a stunning combo. Her sidearm closed the deal. Fifty feet away, she almost broke into a run. He took a few steps toward her. She wrapped him up in a bear hug and didn’t let go.
    “It’s good to see you, Nathan.”
    Harv stepped forward. “Hey, save some of that for me.”
    She let go and gave Harv a long hug too. To Nathan’s surprise, Grangeland had a single tear running down her cheek. She wiped it away. “Sorry about the emotional reunion.”
    “Hey, no need to apologize,” Harv said and released her. “This is just what the doctor ordered. You look great. Everything okay? You made a full recovery?”
    She patted her stomach. “I lost my gallbladder, but that’s not the end of the world.”
    “I’m sorry,” Nathan said.
    “The bullet missed my spine by an eyelash. All things being equal, I’m just glad to be alive. And walking.”
    “Amen to that,” Harv added.
    “I owe you guys my life.”
    “That debt,” he said, “goes both directions. You took a bullet for us.”
    Though as attractive as any woman he’d known, Grangeland had incredible physical strength, which, when combined with her combat training, made her a tough opponent. Under adversarial circumstances when they first met, Grangeland had challenged him to an open-handed fight—minus any head blows—and to his shock and admiration, she’d wrestled him into a half nelson in mere seconds. A rocky start, but their friendship had grown closer ever since. After the dust had settled, she told them she preferred being called Grangeland,

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