6
Sheila stayed on the couch that first night and puzzled at Randall’s comment. What did she want? There was the thousand-dollar question.
The door to what she wanted had been closed. The Army offered to let her stay in if she would drive domestic, but no foreign action. She’d told them just how far out of the daylight they could ram it. Their ever-so knowing and tolerant smiles—they’d all read her psych profile after all—almost earned them a personal demonstration. The black ops contractors didn’t need drivers, they needed operators—she’d checked. As far as “want” went, she hadn’t looked any further than that.
Three more days and nights with Randall didn’t add a lot of clarity. During the days they went on long cold hikes through the crisp mountain air. In the evenings, they’d sometime
