Hatch sat in the same restaurant booth they’d shared years ago. Being back here felt odd. She’d always wondered what it would be like to see Cruise again after all these years. Ten years with the SEAL Teams before opting for the private sector. Their six-month love affair following the amphibious assault course where they’d met had proved they were just as intense in the bedroom as they were on the battlefield. But the brightest flames burn out fastest, and it wasn’t long before life and circumstance interfered.
Sitting at the café where they’d said their last goodbye seemed like as fitting a place as any to pick up again where they’d left off. If Cruise hadn’t alerted Hatch to the Talon Executive Services hunter-killer squad sent to kill her, it was unlikely she would’ve been able to get ahead of the power curve. She owed him a debt of thanks but couldn’t ignore the question burning a hole in the back of her mind. How did Alden Cruise know?
The person capable of answering that question walked in. It’d been five years since Hatch last saw him. She felt the tingle in her scar return. Hatch rubbed her fingers along the raised puffiness of twisted thorny branches wrapping her right arm from wrist to shoulder. The wise café owner in Africa had taught her she had nothing to hide, nothing to be ashamed of. And she’d accepted his wisdom. She embraced her ravaged flesh as a reminder of times long past.
Hatch no longer hid her damaged arm from view. But seeing Cruise approach, she felt ashamed. She felt an irrational urge to cover it. Cruise hadn’t been touched by the ravages of time since they had last been together. In fact, he somehow looked even better. The years between them had had markedly different impacts, at least outwardly. Hatch looked at the chiseled former SEAL as he made his way toward her.
“Rachel Hatch in the flesh.”
In the flesh. Even his words had an unintended effect. His eyes immediately shot to her damaged arm. Cruise tried to casually retract his glance, but Hatch could see the shock resonate on his face. She met his gaze and he offered an apologetic look. Great. The last thing she wanted was a pity party.
Hatch stood. The two embraced. Cruise leaned in for a kiss. Hatch redirected its intended destination of lips for the side of her cheek.
“I should've been there for you.” Cruise slid into the opposite side of the booth.
“You were deployed. It didn't matter anyway. Whatever we had ended long before this.” Hatch slapped the scar.
"I heard you died."
"I heard that too."
"Well for a dead person, you look great.”
Hatch felt her cheeks warm with a redness blocking her pale complexion. She knew Cruise well enough that, beyond his charm and golden boy looks, he was more than a cookie-cutter superhero.
She remembered it being one of his most endearing qualities. Beneath his tough exterior was a kind soul. Cruise had laid it bare to her while on a midnight picnic overlooking the San Diego Bay. Cruise had taken her to Turner Field, a grassy sports field located on the Naval Amphibious Base in Coronado. The Silver Strand Boulevard separated the main base from the SEAL candidates being run through the grinder of the Basic Underwater Demolition/SEAL, or BUD/s. Cruise had been named Honor Man for his class, a distinction earned by outperforming all other trainees. He hadn't stopped at surpassing his peers but went on to dethrone the obstacle course longtime record holder.
As they’d shared a glass of wine and looked out on the lights of the bridge connecting Coronado to the San Diego mainland, Hatch remarked at the stillness of the bay water compared to the ocean feeding it. She had said the moon looked as though it were kissing the water. Then he proposed to her using a piece of foil he'd shaped into a ring. He deployed for eighteen months the next morning. Hatch had just been selected for Task Force Banshee. Even if the foil ring had been real, it would've ended the same. Married to the military left them lonely in life. Or at least for her it did. Cruise now wore a black plated tungsten wedding band.
"They still make those coffee cakes?" Hatch asked.
"Best in the world. My humble opinion, of course." Cruise leaned back in his seat and called over in the direction of the kitchen, "Sherry, two of the usual."
Sherry, a cute waitress in her late twenties, approached with the two plates balanced in one hand and a coffee pot in the other. Cinnamon sugar filled the air. The waitress topped off both mugs before returning to the kitchen.
"How did you know about that Talon team coming for me?"
"Same old Hatch. You don't beat around the bush."
"Never really been my way." The warmth of Hatch's coffee warded off the coolness still clinging to the air of the spring morning.
"There's a long and short answer to that question."
"That's not an answer."
"I'm with Talon."
Hatch nearly spat her coffee. Her mind reeled. She quickly scanned the interior of the café. No threat.
"Relax. It's me. Just me."
"I don't understand."
"You've got Talon all wrong. It's not what you think. They are on the cutting edge of defense contracting, handling some of the most dangerous missions in the world."
"Like hunting a woman and her family? Are my niece and nephew these dangerous threats you speak of?" Hatch felt a surge of rage rise up inside her.
"What happened to you was an anomaly. It's a private security company, plain and simple. Government contract work, foreign and domestic. What happened to you was done by a rogue element, a couple old war horses with skeletons in their closet."
"My dad was one of those old war horses."
"I know."
"That's all you got?" Hatch suddenly wasn't as hungry.