Old Growth & Ivy (The Spook Hills Trilogy Book 1) (21 page)

After a couple of days in Edinburgh at
a small, quiet hotel, she took a train to Glasgow, overnighted in a
non-descript tourist hotel and drove to Portree on the Isle of Skye where she
moved into a bed and breakfast.  As she walked around that rugged,
windswept isle, she could feel herself coming back together.  The
shattered sensation that had been haunting her was retreating.  Bit-by-bit
parts of her essence were refinding each other and knitting new, and hopefully
stronger, bonds.  Her nervous system was becoming more reliable, her heart
had ceased its sporadic fits of pounding, and that elusive part of her that
must be her soul crept out of wherever it had been hiding, making her feel more
complete. 

She spent a week wandering the rocky
coastline and seeing the Isle of Skye.  One day, she hired a local guide
to take her hiking into the highlands.  Walking the cold, wind-blown path
up the side of the mountain to a hidden loch, she discovered that she needed
Steve more than she feared the bad guys.  The time had come to do more
than send a short email.

Secure Email
from Ivy Littleton, June 27, 2013

My Dearest
Steve,

I
have left Scotland after spending some days in Edinburgh and then more than a
week on the Isle of Skye, roaming its highlands and rugged coastlines. 
While you have never been out of my thoughts, by the time I boarded the train
from London to Edinburgh, some of my depleted reserves had returned and I had
the energy to daydream about you.  Until that time, so little of me was
alive that the part of my brain that dreams had no ability to function.  I
can appreciate that these weeks have been devastating for you.  However
you must know in your heart that when I am sufficiently healed, when I have my
inner strength back, and when I can no longer stand being apart from you, that
I will return.

In
my mind, you sat across from me on the Edinburgh train eating a full Scottish
breakfast.  You walked around that historic city with me, reveling in the
twisting, scenic streets, the views, and the sheer Scottishness of it
all.  You snuggled with me at night, warming me with your love.  You
were on the Isle of Skye as I roved the Highlands and braved the winds on the
coast.  At night, I let my thoughts linger on memories of you kissing me,
holding me, and becoming as much a part of each other as it is possible to
be.  Those thoughts and memories have helped to heal me.

I
fear I have let you down, the way I crumbled so seemingly easily.  What
you don't know, because I could never talk about it and made every effort not
to show it, is that work had stolen my life.  When I met you, years of
continual stress had so worn me down, that my life had become one gray series
of days to plow through. Oh yes, I kept up a facade, but inside I had nothing
left to give.  Then you came and made the world have color again.  My
blood began to hum in my veins.  Suddenly I had positive forces to bolster
me up.  However only time without the negative grind could repair the
underlying damage and time was what I was not to have. 

So
many things changed so quickly -- you and Mathew moved in.  FBI agents
were staked out in the garage and following me everywhere I went.  You and
Mathew left the FBI.  You bought Spook Hills together to make it our new
home.  You proposed, giving me a new life.  I retired and thought
that working with you on Spook Hills, I could recover.  Then all too
quickly, that peace was shattered.  As soon as I had a glimpse of that man
on my deck at the Portland house, the threads that were holding me together
snapped, flew about the room and lay in shards around me.  I could no
longer keep up the pretense that all was well with Ivy.

Please believe that I did not leave because
of you.  I left for you.  I left for us.  I left for me. I had
to find what was left of me, pull the shattered pieces back together, put as
much heavy-duty glue as possible in the cracks and plug up the holes so that I
can be strong again. 

I
cannot tell you when that will be -- next week, next month, next year.  I
only can tell you that it will be.  I hope that you still love me enough
to be there when I can come back to you.  You are the center of my world
that has kept the essence of me breathing. 

With all my
Love,

Ivy

P.S.
Give Mathew and my dear corgis and Druid hugs for me and remember the feel of
my arms around you, as I cherish the memories of the warmth of yours around me.

***

Steve pushed back from his laptop
after reading Ivy's email.  He closed his eyes and let out a deep breath,
one that seemed like he had been holding since she departed, leaving him
standing and crying in the lobby of the Heathman Hotel.  She still loves
me, he whispered.  Now he better understood what caused her to crumble. 
While he was sorry that she had not told him at the time, he well understood
having a misplaced sense of pride.  She still loves me, he said out loud,
no longer whispering.  He could feel the joy spreading outward from his
heart, filling him up.  He wanted to be with her.  While he wanted at
least to call her, he understood that this opening up had been hard for
her.  He remembered when he first met her, he had noticed a flickering
emotion that would creep into her eyes -- fear, conflict or a troubling memory
-- and she would quickly push it back out of sight.  Now he understood
that even then she had been fighting to hold herself together.  He had to
give her the time to rebuild in her own way.  Perhaps if she found she was
not the only one with issues, it would make the healing process a little easier
for her.

Secure
Email from Steve Nielsen, June 27, 2013

Oh,
my darling Ivy, how precious having you open up is to me!  I have been
living in a quagmire of guilt and despair, fearful that my crazy life had
driven you away from me forever.  I have been so worried that not only had
I put you in mortal danger, but also I had robbed you of your home, your peace
of mind, your health, and your strength.

To
hear that you still want me and to understand that more was happening with you
than I appreciated have combined to raise my spirits.  For the first time
in weeks, my inner self has a chance of becoming whole again.  You had
woken up parts of me that were in hibernation.  Having felt those parts
come alive, I no longer wanted to revert to the half-man I used to be.

If
it is any comfort, let me tell you something about me that I held back from
you.  Heck, I held it back from myself for a long time because I refused
to admit that age was catching up with me.  My reactions started slowing
down.  While not a lot, it was enough to make a difference in situations
where split second timing is required.  The last four missions I was on
only went as well as they did because of the teams I had, the planning we did,
and support from other units.  That last one, the one on the yacht, was
the worst.  I damn near got us all killed.   I never had the
courage to discuss it with you -- I was so afraid you would think less of me. 
When we are together again, I will tell you how it played out, but that was the
reason I told you one of your angels was riding on my shoulder.

If
we learn nothing else from this time apart, we should learn to be open with
each other.  We should not hide what is troubling us from pride, from fear
of appearing diminished in each other's eyes or from the terrifying thought
that our honesty about natural human changes would drive us apart.  We
must have more faith in ourselves and in each other.  While the love we
share is as ethereal as the gossamer wings of a butterfly, it is also stronger
than any substance we know.

If one of us is unable to talk about a
troublesome topic, thought or emotion, then let us commit to sending each other
emails now and again.  They can be love letters or confessions of inner
doubts or soul searching we are doing or reminders to each other of who we
are.  I have spent years searching for you.  We must not allow our
overgrown senses of personal dignity to get in the way of deepening our love.

Take as much time as you need, my
dearest Ivy.  If you want me, I will be there by your side as fast as a
jet can transport me.  Until that time, I will be at Spook Hills, making
the land we bought into a home for you to fill with love and happiness. 
When you are ready, we will enjoy each other and grow old together. 

Ivy, my Ivy, I love you more than I
ever thought was possible,

Steve

***

Ivy took a circuitous route back to
Portland, first staying in London at a modern hotel for a few days, testing her
newfound strength.   Early on the fourth morning, she checked flights
online, found one with some open seats and packed, planning to take the train
out to Heathrow, buy a ticket at the airport and fly from London to Washington
D.C.  From there she would book a flight to Denver and then another one to
Portland. 

Once in Portland, she found a vacation
rental of a studio apartment in the Pearl that she took for a week.  In
the apartment or out walking, still in her disguise, she spent three days
making sure she was confident in her decision to rejoin Steve.  The next
day she planned to leave for Spook Hills by a roundabout route to shake anyone
who might try to follow her.  She wanted to surprise Steve.  He
needed to understand that she would not leave again.  Wandering and being
away from him were not how she could live.  She was determined to stand by
his side to face whatever might lie ahead and not take this coward's way out.
 She had to get her nerves under control; she accepted that.  Now it
was time to be there for Steve.

She was full of joy at the prospect of
seeing him.  She found she was eager to see Mathew too.  She wanted
her corgis and cat around her.  Now was the time to pick up the threads of
her old life at Spook Hills.  Her heart was suddenly so hopeful and full
of promise that she wanted to leave right away, however she had been cautious
over the past weeks.  She could be watchful for another day, or two, or
even three, until she was safely back with Steve.

Mathew sat near Ivy's and Steve's beds
at the hospital in Portland.  Neither one had fully regained consciousness
after the shooting at Spook Hills and their surgeries.  A bullet hit Ivy
within minutes of her arrival back at Spook Hills.  She woke up on and off
but was too disoriented to talk.  Steve lay in the bed opposite in a coma
after losing a great deal of blood when he was shot twice as he spun around to
fling himself in front of Ivy after the first shot hit her in the
shoulder. 

With each of them lying in front of
him, Mathew wondered if he should be out trying to catch whoever was
responsible for this travesty, but he felt compelled to stay with Steve and Ivy
as their personal guard and friend.  FBI agents were on duty in the hallway;
they covered for Mathew in the room when needed.   The Bureau had a
team after the perps with Brian and Moll acting as consultants, making Mathew
glad that the Bureau took care of their own, even former agents.  This was
his time to be there for his two friends, even though he felt useless just
sitting there and waiting.  While he could not make them better, Mathew
could help them when they woke up.  He prayed he would get that chance.

He was so saddened and angered that
Ivy and Steve had been attacked so viciously and devastatingly.  Similar
to the shooting at the Portland house, this shooting had all the earmarks of a
vendetta, where the attackers also went after Ivy first.  He was thankful
that Steve and Ivy did have their reunion, even though it only lasted a
minute.  At least they had that to hang onto.  Mathew had to believe
they would both recover and live to get married because their hearts were so
intertwined.  

He noticed that Ivy had moved
again.  This time her eyes were open and she was trying to sit up. 
He jumped out of his chair and rushed to help her.

 "Steve?" she asked
weakly.

Mathew nodded over to the next
bed.  The nightstand hid Steve’s face from Ivy's view.  She began to
struggle to get out of bed.  He gently pushed her back and rang for the
nurse.  Once she had fussed over Ivy and checked the IV and monitors, the
nurse left the room.  Ivy whispered.  "Is he sleeping?"

"He's in a coma, Ivy.  The
doctors aren't sure why.  He lost a great deal of blood." 

"Have to see him.  Touch
him."

Mathew nodded, moved the IV and
monitor trolley and helped her sit up.

"Where do you think you're
going?"  The same nurse bustled back in with a refill for one of the
substances going into Ivy.

"To see Steve."  

"Lay back down," the nurse
ordered Ivy.  "And Agent, don't tell me this is protocol.  You
get back to your post in that chair." 

"I have to see him," Ivy
said in what was supposed to be a firm voice, but it came out as a rustling
murmur.

"Please nurse," Mathew
interjected.  "These two have the most incredible bond.  They
are engaged to be married.  Ivy might be able to reach him and bring him
back to us."

The nurse gave him a steely glare,
then handed Ivy two pills and a paper cup of water.  "Take
these." 

As she left the room, the nurse turned
to Mathew.  "That medication will start working in 10 minutes. 
Right now, I am going on break.  When I come back, I expect to see her
exactly as she is.  And you," she said sternly, "You had better
be sitting in that chair like their guardian angel.  A doctor will be in
shortly."

As soon as the nurse's footsteps
faded, Mathew scooted over to the bed, gently pulling Ivy up.  She helped
as she could even though she was weak and only had use of one arm.  Once
her feet were on the floor, Mathew supported her by her waist, taking most of
her weight and helping her shuffle over to Steve's bed.

She reached down to take Steve's hand,
leaned over and began calling softly.  "Steve, Steve, wake up. 
I need you.  Come back.  Come back to me."  She stroked his
cheek and kept calling him, but he lay there as impassively as he had since his
surgery.  Tears ran down Ivy's face and Mathew could feel her sagging
heavily against him.  He slowly moved her back to her bed, settled her
under the covers and arranged the IVs and monitor cables.  She closed her
eyes, lying there with a very troubled expression on her face.  Mathew
took a tissue and wiped away the tears on her cheeks, pressed her hand and went
to sit down, making it back right before the nurse's footsteps approached.

The nurse checked both patients,
nodded at Mathew and left.  Every few hours Mathew helped Ivy over to
Steve's bed.  Several nurses yelled at them and threatened Mathew, but he
would give them a charming smile and say that they needed Steve awake to
question him about the shooters.  One by one, through a mixture of charm
and persistence, he wore the nurses down.  Each time Ivy was getting
stronger when she woke up, always wanting to be near Steve.  The nurses
began taking the monitors and drips off. 

Towards dinnertime on the day she
first woke up, Ivy whispered her concerns about Steve.  "What will we
do if he doesn't wake up? What if he has brain damage from the blood
loss?"

"He will come back to us,
Ivy.  He has a great constitution and he is fit.  Inside of that body
of his, he is healing.  Give him time and try not to worry."

"This is my fault.  I
shouldn't have come back."

"Ivy, this shooting would have
happened sooner or later.  If you did not come back, Astuto would have
sent some goons after just Steve and me.  The Bureau is on it.  The
bastard will be caught, even if I have to rejoin the FBI to do it.  You
stay calm and heal for Steve.  He will need you when he wakes up."

The next morning, Ivy put on make-up
and fixed her hair as best she could with one arm.  Color was starting to
return to her face.   Mathew could not help but smile watching her
primping. 

"From the first time I saw you
together at the airport last fall, I was struck by how you would lean towards
each other.  I have seen you in the same room standing or sitting several
feet apart, yet leaning towards each other.  You are so drawn
together."

"You're exaggerating."

"A compelling force pulls you
together.  If you get within a certain distance of each other, you are
always in physical contact.  Never before had I understood Aristotle's
comment that love is composed of one soul inhabiting two bodies.  You two
illustrate that concept."

"Actually I think that love is a
merging of two souls into one.  We are each too independent not to have individual
souls." 

Mathew was glad to see that despite
her injury and the drugs she was on, that Ivy's mind remained sharp and even
argumentative.  However the conversation and the primping had tired her
and she slid groggily back against the pillow.  Mathew went over to make
her more comfortable and watched her go to sleep in a few seconds.  He put
her makeup away, then went over and talked to Steve for a bit, but had no
response.  Could Steve hear him and either could not, or given his stubbornness,
would not react?   He went over to his backpack, took out the
electric razor he had brought with him and gave Steve a shave.  Every day
the hospital staff bathed him.  A physical therapist came in the
afternoons to exercise his legs and right arm.  His hair needed a trim,
but that was more than Mathew could do. 

Mathew wanted to pick up lunch for
himself, and judging by Ivy's disgust with the hospital's food the previous
evening, he would get some light fare for her too.  He asked one of the
agents in the hall to stay with Steve and Ivy.  Maybe he would try putting
food under Steve's nose.  If Ivy failed to wake him, maybe food could.

***

Once back, he called Brian to see if
the investigation was turning up anything, then he settled back with his
lunch.  The hospital staff brought in food for Ivy, but she went on
sleeping.  Steve did not move.  Around one, a nurse woke up Ivy and
told her to eat.  She drank the milk on the tray, poked at the yellow
gelatin, but left the plastic-looking cream of chicken soup alone.  
Once the tray was taken away, Mathew opened a second bag and handed her a
carton of the good Mama Leone's chicken soup from Elephant's Deli, knowing it
was a favorite of hers.  She took it gratefully and began eating.

"There's some pudding too. 
And an oatmeal raison cookie for after your next nap."

She smiled and nodded. 
"You're a lifesaver – I’m starving.  Mathew, tell me what Steve was
like when you worked together at the Bureau."

Mathew thought about where to start
and decided it may as well be at the beginning.  "Back when I was at
the FBI Academy in Quantico, Steve conducted a guest lecture series about what
prospective agents should expect on real cases.  He would depict
situations from cases he handled as much as ten years before where he made each
situation come alive with details.  He talked without notes, going for two
hours at a clip.  His memory was astounding.

"After about an hour to describe
the situation, he made the lectures interactive, asking us what we would do,
drawing out comments and questions.  At first only the show-offs raised
their hands.  He never shot anyone down; he explained why whatever scenario,
let's say 6.3, had weaknesses or risks.  He always had the scenarios
numbered and remembered the numbers -- we checked the case histories."

"Is that standard protocol at the
FBI?"

"Not the way Steve did it. 
He placed a particular emphasis on planning and on examining as many
possibilities as he and his teams could think of, particularly before going in
for an arrest."

"He is so logical."

"And uber-organized.  Anyway
by the fourth lecture, I gathered my courage and responded with what I hoped
was a scenario outside the box.  While I was naive to think I could
impress him given how green I was, I wanted to succeed where others had
failed.  His reaction was different as he listened; he stopped for a
moment, looked hard at me, and then explained the fault in my solution that
created too much risk, but he didn't recite a scenario number.  Steve made
redacted PDF copies of the case files he cited, including all the planning
scenarios, and made them available to the students on a server -- a relatively
new approach back in the ‘
90s
.  After class, I
checked the case study and my scenario wasn’t listed."

"That's interesting."

"I didn't know if it was feeble
or if I had actually come up with a possibility that this superhuman agent and
his team missed.  Years passed before I learned the answer.  All of
us prospective agents talked about him.  He had a reputation as the most
successful agent, team leader, and FBI executive in the business.  He also
had a rep for being about the meanest SOB too.  No, mean is not right
word.  Most demanding, that was it.  Never have I known Steve to be
mean, unless the situation -- the scenario -- required it and then he directed
his angst towards the perps.  At the Bureau, rumors about him so enhanced
his reputation that it became an aura.  He was
sui
generis
, a sort of demi-god to
us as students.  Seeing this living legend in our classroom took our
already high goals for ourselves and moved the bar up."

"Did he have any nicknames
besides 'the Boy Scout'?"

 "Yeah, one was
'Drittsekk'.  I am sorry to say that is Norwegian for asshole or more
literally 'shitbag'.  Yet another was simply, 'B.A.', which could be for
bad ass or big agent, depending on the circumstances."

"Like the ‘B.A.’ one.”

Mathew continued.  "When it
came time for me to graduate from the FBI Academy at Quantico, my first choice
of assignment was the International Operations Division where Steve then
was.  He had made such an impression on me that I hoped to test my worth
by working for him, but the Bureau assigned me to my second choice, the
Criminal Division in the New York office. 

"On the job, I buried myself in
each case and in my free time, learned about cases with international
roots.   From New York, the Bureau transferred me to D.C., where my
boss had earmarked me to move into management.  I set the record straight
that all I wanted was fieldwork.  Within a few months I was sent to
Dallas, by way of annoyance I think.  From there, the Bureau transferred
me back to New York -- six years older and with significant chapters of
experience behind me. 

“Sometimes I would hear about cases
Steve was on and I saw him in the office a few times, but that was it.  In
2007 in New York, we began working on a case that involved drugs from
Afghanistan, money laundering, and suspected funding of terrorist
activities.  From the money-laundering point of view, it was not unlike
the case we picked up last year involving this Astuto character.  The
trails were leading to Turkey, which might have meant a drug cartel, but the
path the money took was off.  The money routed from the U.S. through
France, then Spain, then Bermuda and then Cairo and there it sat from
everything we could tell.  Most money schemes associated with laundering
had the money re-invested or withdrawn.   We found it puzzling; we
were stalled.  Then guess who showed up to take over the
investigation?"