Rachel Running on Empty Pt. 03

Rachel Running on Empty Part Three

by G. Lawrence

Rachel's life takes an unexpected turn

This is not an erotic story, though it does have romance. It features family drama along with adventure, elements of fantasy, and science fiction (very understated, for this is not a science fiction book). And, as her family has discovered, Rachel can be frustrating, willing to go to any lengths once she sets her heart on a course. Life for our hero is never easy. This is part 3 of 8.

Recap: With her work on the ground-breaking World Health Database complete, Rachel is returning to Harvard to finish her degree.

* * * * * *

Chapter Five

Inappropriate Relations

It was the first day of school. The morning was cool but clear as Rachel and Big Bob McLane walked across campus towards the math center. The buildings were tall, the grass green and the trees ancient.

"What are you thinking, Missy?" McLane asked.

"It's scary. It's been so many years," Rachel replied.

She was wearing a stylish but not expensive gray wool suit with high boots and a fedora. McLane wore a brown business suit without a hat.

"You'll graduate with honors," McLane assured her.

"I'm not worried about that. I want to prepare for a doctorate."

"Sounds ambitious," McLane said. "What name are you using?"

"Rachel Montgomery. Rachel Marbury is for family."

They entered the Science Complex, finding the Mathematics Department. The hallways on the first day were busy with young students trying to find their way around, so no one gave Rachel a second look. Which she appreciated.

"Here we go. Derived Categories. Whatever that means," McLane said, finding a modest-sized auditorium.

"This can't be right. It should be a small class."

"It's on the schedule," McLane confirmed.

Rachel felt her heart beating hard. The classroom not only had stadium seating for a hundred students, but a second-floor gallery overlooking the auditorium. The hall was nearly full. Trying not to be obtrusive, she walked halfway down the center row and found her assigned seat.

"You're Rachel Montgomery, aren't you?" a pretty young senior asked. Rachel nodded.

"It's an honor to meet you. I'm Susie Stansbury," the student said, reaching to shake hands. "My father is Marcus Stansbury, CEO of Drexel Industries."

"Drexel makes good syringes," Rachel said.

"Yes, when the Wall Street Journal quoted you saying that, their stock shot up. My father would like to thank you."

"I only told the truth," Rachel replied.

Though now that it had been mentioned, she remembered Pamela and several family members buying Drexel at a low price before her opinion became public. Was there a connection?

"What are you doing here?" Susie asked.

"Finishing my degree."

"Your doctorate?"

"My undergraduate degree."

"You're kidding? You?"

"I had to drop out my senior year. It's taken five years to get back."

"It's hard to believe," Susie said.

The professor arrived, calling the classroom to order. Rachel opened her laptop, finding a tablet too small.

"This is certainly a full house," Professor Gasparian said, a skinny fellow in a tweed suit with a short gray beard. "I suppose it helps to have a celebrity in attendance."

The class laughed. Rachel didn't understand the joke.

"I am Dr. Clifford Gasparian, Dean of Mathematics here at Harvard. I've been selected as our best chance of staying ahead of the curriculum this semester. Many of you are going to find this a challenge."

The class booed and hissed, then chuckled. Rachel still had no idea what was going on.

"Let's cut to the chase, shall we?" Gasparian said. "I see we have enrolled Miss Rachel Montgomery. Am I supposed to teach her advanced mathematics?"

More laughter. Rachel started getting mad. Were they making fun of her?

"Today, I feel like the German professor charged with teaching theoretical physics to Albert Einstein," he continued. "Maybe she should be leading this class?"

Heads turned. Rachel turned around, too, trying to see who everyone was looking at. Until she realized they were looking at her. She dipped her head, the long brown hair nearly covering her face, and sat with her hands in her lap.

"Miss Montgomery? Miss Montgomery?" the professor called out.

Rachel remained still. Barely reacting at all. Gasparian paused his teasing. It wasn't the response he expected.

"Miss Montgomery?" Susie whispered, poking her with her elbow. But Rachel didn't look up.

Gasparian walked up the aisle, had Susie move out of the way, and sat next to Rachel.

"I'm sorry," he said. "I'm not mocking you. I admire your work. Tremendously. So does everyone in my class. Your presence here is an honor."

"I'm not so smart, sir," Rachel quietly replied. "There are lots of things I don't know."

"Maybe I can help you learn more?" Gasparian said.

"Thank you, sir," Rachel answered.

"You must call me Cliff. You aren't an ordinary student. It would be pretentious if we pretended otherwise."

Rachel nodded but couldn't speak. Or even raise her head. Susie slipped back into the seat next to her, realizing how little her classmate cared for so much attention.

"It's okay, Miss Montgomery. We're all here for you," Susie said.

Gasparian went back to his podium, reviewing the class syllabus. If he wanted bantering with his star pupil, it was going to take effort.

* * * * * *

"Though it's a might off subject, would anyone like to explore the expanding field of fractal engineering?" Dr. Hosmer asked his Advanced Analysis class. Nearly every hand went up. All eyes turned toward Rachel, who tried to look inconspicuous.

"Okay, then," Hosmer continued. "MFI, as it's come to be known, is based on a simple concept. Digital signals leaked into the continuum leave discernable signatures. For years, these traces remained free-floating, thought to be irretrievable. But as the work of Lavoisier and Mayer showed, matter and energy can neither be created nor destroyed. Einstein showed that matter and energy interconvert. Pauli demonstrated that this conversion leaves a quantum signature."

Hosmer turned to his electronic chalkboard, sketching out a series of equations. Some indicated connections between satellite dishes, microwave towers, relay towers, and cell towers. Even solar panels showed as resonance sources.

"It's been proven that these signatures can be resurrected using fractal interfacing," Hosmer said. "Properly aligned MFI mainframes search for these signatures and break the tracks down into raw data. The trick is extrapolating the data through a layering process that sorts superfluous structures from a definitive resolution."

A student raised her hand.

"Doctor, wouldn't that involve manipulating billions, maybe even trillions of analytics?"

"It certainly does, Miss Palmer, which is why a matrix is required to keep the data flow in a stable format. Quite frankly, very few know how to achieve this stabilization."

Again, everyone looked at Rachel, who now had her head up, listening. She had no idea anyone was investigating her work so thoroughly.

"Miss Montgomery, care to provide insight?" Hosmer asked.

"MFI is an information gathering and distribution tool," Rachel answered. "It's what people do with the information that matters."

"Wouldn't you agree it's a very sophisticated tool?" Hosmer pressed, walking partway up the aisle to urge her on. He saw her eyes were bright and engaged. Eager.

"The abacus was a sophisticated tool 4,000 years ago," Rachel pointed out. "Then there were slide-rules, adding machines, and computers. And now we're exploring the Level 12 matrix. Someday--"

"Are we exploring Level 12? Isn't that experience still limited to only a few?" Hosmer questioned.

"Stabilization appears difficult to manage now," Rachel responded, "but in time, the techniques will be easier to master. And when the matrix systems have seen their day, something else will come along."

"Would you agree that, for our time, the matrix system is cutting edge? That it may make our world a better place?" Hosmer asked.

"That is not for me to say, sir. Any new technology poses hazards, as spoken of in Matthew 7:15."

"What would that be, for those of us who have fallen behind on our Bible studies?" Hosmer said.

"Beware of false prophets, which come to you in sheep's clothing, but inwardly they are ravening wolves."

* * * * * *

"Well, I'm off," Rachel said, an overnight bag on her shoulder. "My first break in a month."

Her luxury apartment looked lived in now. With little time to cook or clean, and uncomfortable hiring a maid, it had become a mess. Even the kitchen was piled with dirty dishes.

"I should be going with you. Manhattan is no place for the timid," McLane said.

"I'll be with John and Alicia. We have rooms at Lotte Palace and tickets to see Emma on Broadway. It will be fun."

"You're not allowed to carry your gun in New York," McLane warned.

"I'm not allowed to carry it here."

"You keep that phone I gave you close. I know you don't like it, but that's too bad. Call me if there's trouble."

"I promise. What are you going to do while I'm gone?"

"Still have my consulting work."

"You should take some time off," Rachel suggested.

"I get a lot more time off than you do."

"Well, I have a project for you."

"What would that be?"

Rachel went to her bedroom door, slowly opened it, and whispered a summons. A moment later, McLane's two daughters emerged, laughing at their father's astonished look.

"Hi, Daddy," Marissa said, wearing a brand-new fall outfit. "Going to show us the town?"

"Which direction is Bunker Hill?" Aliyah asked, also stylishly dressed.

McLane rushed to hug them. Marissa was twenty now, tall and trim. Aliyah had just turned eighteen, shorter and a bit round.

"Mr. McLane, can you entertain my young friends while I'm gone?" Rachel requested.

"Yes, Missy, I can do that," McLane gratefully replied.

Rachel found a town car waiting for her downstairs. After spending most of her life riding the bus, it still felt strange. Though she would rather have taken the train to New York City, despite the four-hour commute, she'd learned Bensons didn't travel that way.

The car didn't go to Logan International, but to a private airfield outside the city. Rachel saw a Gulfstream jet standing by.

"Have a good flight, Miss Montgomery," the driver said, opening the door. Rachel reached into her purse. "No, ma'am. No tipping allowed. It's been my pleasure."

"Thank you," Rachel said, hurrying across the tarmac. She saw John waiting for her at the boarding ramp.

"Perfect timing," John said, leading her in. The jet could fly eight, but they were the only passengers.

"Where is Alicia?" Rachel asked.

"Last minute change of plans. She had a cotillion or something to attend."

"A cotillion?"

"The Lodger family is very big in Boston. They were the first off the Mayflower. Their commitments always outweigh everyone else's."

"We can cancel the trip," Rachel offered. "I have an Analysis & Applications test to study for."

"No. I know how you love Jane Austen, and everyone says Emma is terrific. You have to see it."

"I've been looking forward to it," Rachel admitted.

The jet hardly seemed to taxi for a moment before taking off, climbing steeply. Rachel lost her breath.

"You don't fly much, do you?" John observed.

"Oh, I've flown a lot. At least fourteen times."

"In your whole life? I've flown that many times in one week."

"Taking the bus is easier," Rachel said.

"But it takes longer."

"That's true."

"This will give us a chance to catch up. We haven't talked much since Mendelson took over as your personal lawyer."

"Oliver isn't my lawyer anymore. Sheba hired new ones for me. There's about twenty of them."

"Is WHD doing that well?"

"That's what everyone says."

Rachel looked out the window. It would be a short flight. Driving from La Guardia to the theater district would probably take more time.

They had a late lunch at Dempsey's, walked through Times Square until it was showtime, and had the best seats in the house for the play. John had wasted no expense.

"What did you think?" he asked as they strolled down 42nd Street toward Broadway. It was a cool October night, the weather cloudy. Rachel wore her heavy coat.

"It was hilarious," she replied. "Emma really doesn't get the math at all."

"The math?"

"Using calculations to predict outcomes. Every match Emma tries to make among her friends turns into disaster."

"How would you have matched them?"

"I wouldn't dare try. Relationships are completely confusing."

"How about dinner at Akio's? Near Central Park? They have great steaks," John urged. "Fish, too."

"Fish is good," Rachel agreed.

The fashionable restaurant was crowded, but John had already reserved the best table. Rachel enjoyed the Japanese decorations.

"Greetings, Mr. Benson. It's a pleasure to serve you," the maître d' said, wearing a white coat and black tie. "Just a minute, please."

A moment later, the chef appeared, middle-aged and rugged, with short gray hair and a broad face. His sleeves were smudged with sauces.

"Good evening, I am Toshima," the gentleman introduced with a bow. "I hope to have something special for you tonight."

He quickly disappeared, replaced by a bottle of fine wine. After Miso soup, Wagyu beef and exotic sushi rolls, Rachel excused herself to the ladies room. It was near the kitchen. The food smelled fabulous.

"Excuse me? Chef Toshima?" she said, sticking her head through the door.

"Yes, Miss Montgomery?" the chef replied.

"May I ask a question? Would that be all right?"

John didn't see Rachel again for another hour.

"Please accept this Dassai 23, sir. Compliments of the house," Chef Toshima said, placing a bottle of saki on the table.

"What happened to Miss Montgomery?" John inquired.

"She is cleaning up," Toshima answered. "She will be along in a moment."

"We'll be moving on. May I get the check?" John said, reaching for his wallet.

"That has been taken care of," Toshima replied.

"No, I can't let her pay for this. She's my guest."

"No payment is required," Toshima insisted. "Miss Rachel's help in the kitchen was delightful. Rarely do I meet someone as insightful about spices as I am. She gave me several valuable tips. And to my credit, I think I taught her a few new techniques as well. If she ever chooses to give up science, I would gladly have her as my apprentice."

Rachel returned a moment later, looking chagrined.

"I'm so sorry to leave you alone," she apologized. "Chef Toshima showed me how he prepares the sashimi, and before I knew it--"

"Rach, it's fine. It's good to see you enjoying yourself."

"Oh, I am. This has been a wonderful day."

"Let's go for a walk in Central Park."

"Isn't the park dangerous after dark?"

"Not when you have private security," John said, glancing over his shoulder. Rachel noticed two men in dark suits standing near the door.

"Have they been here all along?" Rachel asked.

"They've been close ever since we left the airport," John explained.

They returned to Lotte Palace just after midnight, a luxury hotel in the heart of Manhattan.

"Would you like to get a drink at the bar before going up to our suites?" John asked.

"I'm good. It's been a long day."

"We can have drinks sent up?"

"I still need to correlate my linear equations report before turning in. I'd hate for Dr. Hosmer to think his star student is a drunk."

"You're not a drunk."

"I'm not always good at holding my alcohol, either."

They took the elevator to the 50th floor, quiet so late in the evening. John opened her door for her.

"Goodnight, then," he said, standing close.

Rachel was tempted to remind John that he had a fiancée, but wasn't sure if she was reading the situation correctly. Which was odd, because she almost always did.

"Sleep well, John," she said.

Then she ducked inside and closed the door.

* * * * * *

As Pamela predicted, the semester moved quickly. Rachel realized that by December she'd finally have the degree she'd always dreamed of. And then what? Her medication was keeping the numbers at bay, but for how long?

"Hello, Tom," Rachel said to the zoom screen.

"Hi, Rachel. It's good to finally see you," Tom said. Rachel thought he looked as handsome as ever. "Top of your class, like you hoped?"

"Oh yes, it wasn't hard. I just needed to focus."

"How much focus?"

"This is Harvard," Rachel replied.

"Okay, I get it. Any hazes? Keeping your feet on the ground?"

"A few mild ones. Nothing that caused me to get hit by a bus."

"Glad to hear it."

"How are you? How's school? What have you been doing?"

"School's good," Tom answered. "I get my graduate degree in June, and I'll have my certification in another year."

"That's great. I'm so proud of you. What are you doing for the holidays?"

"My unit's being called up for maneuvers, so it won't be much of a Christmas," Tom replied. Though Rachel couldn't help wondering if there was more to the story.

She waited to see if Tom would suggest getting together after the holidays, but he didn't offer any information. She wondered if he'd found another girlfriend. She couldn't blame him for that, having neglected him for three months.

"Be careful now. Don't fall off the boat," Rachel said, ending the connection.

* * * * * *

"We would like you to come back for a doctorate," Dr. Gasparian said, sitting with several administrators in the walnut-paneled conference room.

"I would like that, too, sir. But I can't. Not right away," Rachel replied.

"We respect your decision. Can you say why?" Marcia Kavanaugh asked, the respected head of the Science Department.

"World Health Database is growing faster than anyone expected. Sheila Marbury is hoping I can provide technical assistance. After that? I'm not sure. I've never had a life outside of my work."

"That's understandable," Gasparian agreed.

"May I suggest something? Would that be okay?" Rachel asked.

"Of course," Kavanaugh said.

"Just because I won't be in Boston doesn't mean I won't keep getting ideas. Is there a way for me to submit papers? Perhaps use them for academic credit?"

"We can work with that," Kavanaugh said with a smile.

"There is an issue, and I'm not sure how to address it," Rachel reluctantly added. "It may involve lawyers."

"Lawyers?" Dean Horowitz said. Rachel remembered her from many years before. Horowitz had led the committee that ultimately approved her first scholarship.

"Level 12 operates with proprietary encoding," Rachel explained. "Though I own the patents, they can't be shared outside an approved circle. Not if I'm to use them to develop Level 14."

"Level 14!" Gasparian shouted.

"What happened to Level 13?" Kavanaugh asked.

"The government has a bootleg Level 13," Rachel said. "As my former boyfriend would say, it's a clusterfuck. Anything I do there will be tainted."

"We'll figure it out," Horowitz said. "Harvard has lawyers, too. Helping Rachel Montgomery develop a new matrix would be a great honor. Like having our own Einstein. Princeton will be jealous."

"Dean--" Rachel started.

"You should call me Carol. We've known each other for nine years."

"That would be disrespectful, ma'am," Rachel objected.

"Humor me."

"Okay, Carol. I realize Rachel Montgomery gets a lot of publicity. Not all of it is good, as you probably remember. I don't need more publicity, and I don't want it."

The conference room grew quiet. In a world where the best and brightest sought the limelight, it was odd to find someone who didn't.

"We can keep our relationship confidential, for now," Horowitz promised. "But if you develop a matrix that saves the world, no one will be able to keep it a secret."

"That's fine, ma'am," Rachel agreed. "I don't want to be unreasonable."

* * * * * *

Boston got snow the first week in December. It didn't affect Rachel greatly. She was studying for finals, and it was a short walk from her apartment to the science building. The only time she had much exposure to the weather was her weekly lunch date with John.

"You're looking great," John said, settling down at their usual table. "That fur outfit looks terrific."

"Faux fur," Rachel said. "Rory ordered it for me when I told her about the blizzard."

"It was a nice snowfall. I wouldn't call it a blizzard."

"I grew up in Palmdale. It was a blizzard."

They were sitting in a casual Italian bistro on Coolidge Hill with a grand view of the Charles River. Rachel liked the red tablecloths and paintings of Naples decorating the walls. They ordered lasagna and red wine.

"My junior year at Harvard, I found a job cooking in Little Italy," Rachel remembered. "The extra income allowed me to rent a loft on Copp's Hill. It had lace curtains."

"Does Boston seem familiar again?"

"Yes. It's very strange, like another world come back to life."

"How are classes going?" John inquired.

"Two more weeks. They haven't asked any questions I can't answer yet."

"And then you'll have your degree. That's terrific."

"I try not to get too excited, but I am."

"You should be excited. After all you've gone through. All the work. All the troubles. You've come so far from that frightened little urchin I first met at Canby Place, huddling against the fireplace too scared to speak."

"The pneumonia didn't help," Rachel pointed out.

"I will always be grateful to Rory for saving you," John said, reaching across the table to take her hand. Rachel slowly pulled back.

"How are you and Alicia doing?" she asked.

"Allie and I are taking a break," John replied.

"You're supposed to get married in April," Rachel said, sounding shocked.

"I don't think so. She's always so busy. Not just her classes and sports. Events with her folks. Traveling with her girlfriends. Parties on Martha's Vineyard when I need to work. We've gone different directions."

"I'm sorry to hear that. She's such a nice girl. I've always liked her."

"We'll still be friends. I hope. Still seeing that sailor guy?"

"I'm not sure. I don't think so."

It looked like John had something to say, then thought better of it.

"Finals shouldn't fill all your time. We should still have lunch next week, and maybe catch a movie over the weekend," John recommended.

"I don't know," Rachel replied.

"I won't take up your whole day. Just an hour or two."

"I guess that would be okay," Rachel agreed.

"A little relaxation will be good for you," John urged. "You'll see. Help clear your head."

John began to reach across the table again. Rachel kept her hands in her lap.

* * * * * *

"Congratulations, Missy," McLane said.

"It won't be official until Friday, but yes. Thank you. I am a Harvard graduate."

McLane had hung ribbons and balloons in her apartment even though there was no party.

"When's the ceremony?"

"They have a little ceremony on the 20th, but I want to be in Aspen by then. I'm so anxious to see Mother and Rory again. And return you to your family in time for Christmas. Harvard has invited me back in June for the big graduation. Caps and gowns. Bands playing as we walk down the aisle."

"Will you be valedictorian?"

"I don't know. I won't be making any speeches, that's for sure."

"You didn't want a party, but you should do something to celebrate."

"John is taking me to Ma Maison. There's going to be dancing."

"Seeing him again?"

"He's nice."

"I don't want to step out of line, but you're looking for trouble there."

"We're just friends," she assured him.

"Believe that if you have to."

John picked her up after seven, fighting traffic because of the heavy snow. The restaurant was crowded but John had reserved an excellent table.

"Thank you," Rachel said, adjusting her napkin.

"You deserve it. You worked hard."

"It wasn't all work. I had fun. Most of the time."

"Heading for Aspen?" John asked.

"Yes. In a few days. Rory is going to meet me there. William and Samantha will be there, too. We're going skiing."

"Finally getting off the bunny slope?"

"I want to ski Devil's Run."

"That's a hairy slope."

"Guess I'll find out."

"I'll be flying in on the 23rd. Christmas at Marbury House is always special. Especially this year."

"Have you and Alicia patched things up?"

"I haven't talked to her in weeks. Not sure if she's even in town."

Rachel ordered the braised lamb. John had a steak. They shared a bottle of cabernet. Rachel promised not to spend the evening in the kitchen. When the dancing started, she was first on the floor. John ordered cocktails.

"I needed this," Rachel said, her eyes bright and breath short.

"It's good for me, too. All I do is work these days. Filing motions. Taking depositions. Arguing with the partners. One dull case after another."

"You don't need the money. Why not try something new?"

"Habit, I guess. After graduating law school, I stayed in Boston rather than go home. Kind of got stuck here."

"I'm sorry the relationship with your father wasn't better. Sleeping with your ex-girlfriend wasn't fair."

"Dad wanted what he wanted."

"Yes, I know."

"He proposed. You almost married him," John recalled.

"I would have, if he didn't have a son and daughter older than me, and a son who was barely younger."

"Did it really make so much difference?"

"I've seen what happens when an older man divorces his wife and marries a much younger woman. The children hate her, and in time, they hate him."

"Dad divorced Mom years before you even met. Hell, Dad was still with Sheba. No one would blame you for that."

"They would if they wanted to. Let's dance some more."

The night ran late, and they kept drinking. When the restaurant was finally getting ready to close, the weather outside wasn't friendly.

"There's no driving in this," John said, bundling up.

"It's really cold," Rachel agreed, pulling her jacket tighter.

They had hardly gone a few steps when Rachel lost her balance on the icy sidewalk. John tried to catch her, but she went down in a puddle.

"Are you okay?" he asked, helping her up.

"Yes, but I'm all soaked. I wish I'd brought my ski outfit."

"The Wyndham is just around the corner. We'll get rooms."

They crossed the street cautiously, watching out for traffic in the swirling mist. The lobby was a blessing, heaters blowing warm air.

"You sure got wet," John said, seeing black splotches on her dress and stockings. The back of her coat was soaked. "We'll have the concierge get that fixed."

John parked Rachel on a sofa and went to check in. Rachel took off her shoes, trying to shake them out. Her red wool dress was streaked with mud.

"Adjoining suites on the top floor," John announced, helping her to the elevator. When they reached her room, John opened the door for her. And followed her in. He started running bath water, then got on the phone for room service, turning his back. Rachel got out of the wet clothes to climb in.

"Are you all right?" John asked through the door.

"Yes. Just a small bruise. Nothing serious."

"Need help?"

"No thank you."

Room service arrived to take Rachel's dress for cleaning. And deliver a bottle of champagne. When Rachel woke up the next morning, she found John in her bed.

* * * * * *

Rachel wanted to believe nothing had happened, but knew it wasn't true. She remembered well enough.

"Good morning," John said, rolling over to kiss her.

"Good morning," Rachel said, going to take a shower. John joined her there a moment later but wasn't sensing any enthusiasm.

"How are you? Not sore, are you?" he snickered.

"Sore?"

"You're kind of a wildcat," John said, showing scratches on his back.

"I'm sorry."

"Don't be sorry. It was great."

Rachel washed quickly, found a thick robe, and went to sit on the bed. John ordered breakfast, checked with room service to see when her clothes would be ready, and joined her there. She was quiet.

"Rachel, I know--"

"Hush," Rachel said, putting up a hand.

She sat cross-legged, straightened her shoulders, and stared into John's face. He noticed her intensity, the big brown eyes searching. They almost seemed to change color. Her breathing was steady. His breathing grew heavier, as if he was under some sort of intense examination. Something that had a physical presence. The sensation quickly passed.

"You need to marry Alicia," Rachel said.

"What? No," John refused.

"She's the woman for you. She's your mate. The mother of your children."

"Did you scan me? I've heard stories."

"No one scans people. That's ridiculous. I just know what I know. Give Alicia a call. I'm sure she misses you."

"I can't. We had words. I can't back down."

"This is a guy thing? You're going to throw away a wonderful woman over your stupid pride?"

"It's not that."

"How long until breakfast?" Rachel asked.

* * * * * *

It was butt-cold, the ground covered in snow, as Rachel got off the bus. The Italian restaurant was in a narrow storefront just down the block.

"Hello, Alicia, I'm glad you could make it," Rachel said, taking a seat at a small table near the back

"You said it was important," Alicia guardedly replied. "Have you come to gloat?"

"John and I are not together. We are never going to be together," Rachel replied. "Let's order lunch. I'm hungry."

"I don't understand," Alicia said.

"John loves you, but he's a guy. A big, handsome, stupid guy. Sometimes they feel neglected, or get cold feet, or some other bullshit. Do you love him? Do you still want to get married?"

"I think so."

"That answer isn't good enough. I don't have all day to waste on this," Rachel said. "Waiter? Shrimp salad, please. One for my friend, too. And water."

"What if I don't want a shrimp salad?" Alicia said.

"Then don't eat it. Do you love John?"

"Yes, but I don't think he loves me. Not anymore."

"He loves you."

"How can you be sure?"

"I scanned him."

"You can really do that?"

"Everybody says I can."

When the water came, Rachel drank an entire glass without stopping. And then waved for more. Alicia noticed she looked out of sorts. Her eyes were glassy.

"Are you in a haze?" Alicia asked.

"A mild one. It's not debilitating. I had a long talk with John this morning. He wants to get back together, but can't bring himself to make the first move. He's a dumbass man who can't see past his stubborn pride. You need to take control. He'll only be yours if you go after him."

"I don't know how."

"You have reservations at the Union Oyster House at eight," Rachel announced. "I believe that's where you first met. They are going to serve your favorite meals. The band is going to play your favorite songs. There's dancing. My bodyguard, Robert McLane, will make sure John is there on time. After that, you're on your own."

"You did all that? For us?"

"It wasn't hard."

"I don't know how to thank you," Alicia said, reaching across the table to take her hand.

"You're a sweet kid. You deserve to be happy," Rachel replied. "I'm leaving for Aspen tomorrow to meet Rory. I'm going to ski Devil's Run. You and John need to be there for Christmas. And make your parents come, too."

"My parents? Why my parents?"

"So they can be at your wedding. It's scheduled for New Year's Day, at Aspen Hall. The license and minister have been arranged for. I didn't plan your honeymoon. You need to figure that out on your own."

Rachel reached in her purse, taking out a yellow sheet of notebook paper. "It's all written down," she said.

"This is amazing. How do you know it will work?"

"I've done the ... I've known John for a while now. I think I know you. This is what you need, something rushed and exciting and unconventional. It will put the fire back in your relationship."

"I'll try. I want this to work," Alicia hoped, dabbing her eyes with a napkin.

"Just follow the instructions," Rachel said.

* * * * * *

"That was the most amazing Christmas ever!" Rory said as their chauffeured limo pulled into the parking circle at Canby Place. "Who'd have guessed they'd suddenly get married like that?"

"It was quite a surprise," Rachel agreed.

"I heard they were breaking up, and you put them back together?"

"Yes."

"How did you do it?"

"I told Alicia that I scanned John, and that he still loved her."

"You admitted it? At last?"

"Admitted what?"

"That you can scan people."

"Ro, that's silly. No one can scan people."

They reached the atrium that once displayed Daniel Benson's collection of ancient Greek sculptures. The statues were at the Getty Museum now, replaced by Rachel's herb garden. Rachel knelt to study the plants.

"Mr. Garcia is doing wonderfully with them," Rachel said. "And the orchard has never looked better. I should give him a raise."

"What do you pay him now?" Rory asked.

"I have no idea," Rachel confessed.

"You haven't been home since August. What does it feel like?"

"Strange. Almost like when your father first brought me here," Rachel said. "Gosh, was that really four years ago?"

"Almost," Rory said, helping Rachel with her bags. "Martha said the refrigerator is full. Can I stay for dinner?"

"I was hoping you'd spend the night. Aspen was so busy, we hardly had time to talk."

"I need to see Donna. It's been two weeks. How about this weekend?" Rory proposed.

Martha greeted them in the foyer with a big smile. She had logs burning in the rustic stone fireplace to offset the cold January day.

"Mr. McLane has been keeping tabs on you," Martha warned. "He'll be here this evening to check-in."

"He shouldn't do that. Canby Place is a fortress," Rachel said.

"He's not worried about real estate, he's worried about you," Martha said. "But he wouldn't say why."

"I'm okay. I'd like to go swimming, then we'll make dinner. Pot roast okay?"

"Swimming?" Rory said. "It's freezing out there."

"It's not so cold," Rachel disagreed.

* * * * * *

"Thomas?" Rachel said, using her office phone.

"Rachel. It's good to hear your voice," Tom replied.

"I'm home now. School is over."

"Did you finish top of your department?"

"That doesn't matter."

"It's matters to me."

"Yes."

There was a pause.

"Would you like to have dinner?" Tom asked.

"I would like that a lot. I've been thinking about you."

"I've been thinking about you, too."

"Nice thoughts?"

"Nice thoughts," Tom replied.

"I can make dinner here," Rachel offered.

"When?"

"How about now?"

* * * * * *

On the last day of January, Rachel sat in her bathroom at Canby Place, crying. She had not wanted to believe the test. Any of them. But the report from her doctor had confirmed her fear. She was pregnant. Six weeks. She and Tom had only been together again for four weeks.

* * * * * * *

Chapter Six

A VILLAGE IN THE MOUTAINS

Taking the bus over the mountains was the long way around, but Rachel wanted to cover her tracks. Then she reconsidered. She had been born in Palmdale. Gone to high school there. If reporters were searching for her, wouldn't that be the first place they'd look?

She was tired, and hungry. There was a coffee shop. She grabbed her duffel bag and got off, watching the bus drive away. Being the end of February, the weather was cold. Lingering ice filled the hillsides.

Ketchum was just a waystation in the middle of nowhere. Sadie's Café, the county fire station, a mom & pop grocer, Whiskey Pete's, and a clinic made up most of the town.

"Sit anywhere you want, honey," an older black lady said.

Which was easy, the restaurant having four tables and only two patrons. Rachel found a comfortable spot near the window where she could see the road. High in the mountains, there were lots of towering trees. The air smelled fresh.

"I'm Sally-Ann, but everyone calls me Sadie. This is my place, and you're welcome," Sadie said, handing Rachel a paper menu.

"Cheeseburger and a milk," Rachel said, giving the menu back.

"Haven't seen you in here before. Are you lost?"

"Let's not start a philosophical discussion," Rachel replied, making Sadie laugh.

There was a short-order cook in the back, a hulking middle-aged Hispanic named Manuel. The café looked like a throwback to the 1960s, with red and white striped walls, framed photos of local landmarks, and a checkerboard floor. The oak tables and chairs were weathered but sturdy.

"Here you go, honey," Sadie said, putting the plate down.

The food was okay. Nothing to brag about. Rachel ate slowly without comment. She had two glasses of milk.

"Is there a motel nearby?" Rachel asked as she paid the check with cash.

"Yeah, down at Harley Flats," Sadie said. "You didn't get off the bus here, did you?"

"I sort of did."

"Honey, you weren't supposed to do that. Didn't the bus driver warn you?"

"He may have mentioned it."

Sadie gave her customer a closer inspection. She was young. Mid-20s. Small-boned but athletic. The clipped hair was bleached blonde. Recently. And not very well. Darkly tinted glasses made it hard to see her eyes.

"I can find you a ride," Sadie offered.

"No thank you. I can walk."

"Harley is ten miles. And the road gets narrow. Not many cars, but you need to watch out for those trucks."

"I'll be careful," Rachel said, going out on the veranda. It was getting late. Wherever this Harley was, she wouldn't get there until after midnight. A cold wind blew through.

"Honey, I can't let you do this," Sadie said, following her.

"I'm okay."

"I can tell you don't know these mountains. They aren't for strangers to be roaming around. Come home with me for tonight. We'll find you a ride in the morning."

"I can't impose."

"I have an extra room. You'll be fine. I close up at eight. We'll have a snack. Talk. Maybe share a bottle of wine."

"I can't drink."

"Recovering alcoholic?"

"I'm pregnant."

"My God, honey. What in the hell are you doing in a godforsaken place like this?"

"It's pretty."

Sadie had a wood-frame Victorian house at the end of town. Maybe the biggest house in Ketchum, with three bedrooms and a large kitchen.

"Been traveling long?" Sadie asked as she served tea in the living room. The furniture was old but cozy. Sadie noticed her guest had no suitcases, only a duffel bag.

"Not too long," Rachel said.

"Have enough money?"

"I don't need very much. You have a lovely home."

"Been here twenty years now," Sadie explained. "Ten years since my Frank died. Good people. Good town. Do you live nearby?"

"No."

"I know it's none of my business, but are you in trouble?"

"It's best not to speak of it," Rachel replied.

Rachel slept under thick quilts that night. Her room had a lovely view of the woods.

Sadie was up early, having a café to open. She knocked on Rachel's door. The sun was barely above the horizon.

"Honey, I need to get to work. Lock up before you leave. Honey?"

Sadie peeked inside. Her guest was gone, the bed made. She went downstairs, hearing noise in the kitchen.

"Good morning, Mrs. Johnson," Rachel said, standing over the stove. Sadie smelled scrambled eggs, sausage, waffles, and grits.

"What is this?" Sadie asked.

"I'm sorry to use so much of your food. I'll pay for it," Rachel promised. "Sit down, it's almost ready. Want coffee?"

Sadie sat at the kitchen table, amazed. Her new friend moved from pan to skillet like a professional. Then she served the food on Sadie's fine china like she'd been doing it all her life.

"Oh my God. Oh my God. This is so good!" Sadie said. She tried the waffles, tasted the grits, gobbled the eggs.

"I don't want to work today," Sadie said. "I just want to sit here and eat."

"Thank you," Rachel said with a shy smile.

"Have you worked as a cook?"

"Oh, yes. I worked in a coffee shop while in high school, and I like to cook at home. Sometimes I cook for the homeless shelter."

"Are you homeless now?"

Rachel looked down, stirring more grits. She looked sad.

"You don't need to explain. I think I get it," Sadie said. "Would you be willing to work for me? Manuel makes a good cheeseburger, but he can't do anything like this."

"That would be wonderful," Rachel gratefully said. "But where would I stay?"

"You can stay here, for now. There's a trailer village down near the lake. Rentals open from time to time. You're not too proud to live in a trailer park, are you?"

"No one has ever accused me of being too proud."

* * * * * *

Pamela opened her private email, glad to take a break from tiresome business accounts. One jumped out.

Dear Mother, I hope you are well. I have settled down and am well. I miss you. Your loving daughter, Rachel

The phone rang. It was Rory.

"Mom?"

"Yes, I got a message. Did you?" Pamela said.

"Just now. I'm glad Rach is okay, but she didn't say where she is, or what she's doing."

"My message doesn't say that, either."

"I still don't get this. Why did she run off?" Rory asked. "What's so important that she couldn't tell us?"

"She can be mysterious sometimes," Pamela mentioned.

"She hardly said a word to Tom. Just that she had to go away for a while. He's really hurt."

"Rachel would never hurt someone unless the alternatives were worse," Pamela assured her.

"Could it be that project for the government?" Rory questioned. "Did they take Rach to that secret base so she could work on their machine?"

"Sheila is asking questions, too."

"Shouldn't we be looking for her?" Rory asked.

"Mr. McLane is doing everything he can. Rachel has been very distracted these last few weeks. Maybe she just needs some space?"

"I hope that's what it is."

* * * * * *

"Let me help you with that," Big Willy said.

"I can do it," Rachel replied.

"You're too little to be lifting all this junk."

"I'm not so little."

"You're a fat leprechaun."

Rachel was six months pregnant, and looked it. She'd let out her dresses until finally ordering more appropriate clothes from an elderly seamstress who lived in the village.

Big Willy took the copper pipe from her and carried it into the long rambling mobile home. The kitchen was torn up, but at least the bathroom was finally plumbed. She wouldn't have to keep taking showers in the community center and walking home in a bathrobe.

"Katie, you got yourself a mess here," Willy said. He was a big man, and overweight. A scraggily haired, middle-aged Native American who liked beer and pretty girls.

"It's coming around. You should have seen this place when I first bought it," Rachel said.

"You're handy with tools. Was your pop a craftsman?"

"No, he was a nightwatchman. I read the instructions on the internet and do what they say."

"Plumbing? Electrical?"

"It's not hard."

"Then why are us boys doing most of the work?"

"That wasn't hard to figure out, either," she answered with a grin.

"I'll stick around if you make me dinner."

"I'll make dinner, but I'm telling you again. I'm not dating."

"That's okay. I just like looking at you," Willy said.

"After the baby is born, maybe you can come down to the club," Rachel invited.

"Club?"

"The Carmen Club. In Stateline," Rachel said, leaning forward and whispering. "Don't you know?"

"Don't I know what?"

"Before coming to Ketchum, I was a dancer there. I danced naked. On a stripper pole."

"No. Really?"

"No, you big oaf, not really," Rachel said, slapping him on the shoulder and laughing.

"You are really something," Willy said.

There was a tap on the door.

"Katie? It's Dr. Meadows," a red-headed middle-aged woman said. "Are you ready for your exam?"

"Is that today?" Rachel said.

"It was supposed to be yesterday."

"I'm sorry, Willy. We'll need to do this another time," Rachel apologized.

"That's okay. I can finish this up," Willy offered.

Rachel found her leather handbag, going with Dr. Meadows up the gravel road into town. The trailer village wasn't big, only a dozen homes and a brick recreation center. The land was near a narrow blue lake surrounded by pines. The property would have been expensive had it not been so far from civilization.

"Don't trip," Dr. Meadows said, the rough road filled with potholes.

"I walk this twice a day," Rachel reported.

"Still working the breakfast shift at the diner? And lunch?"

"Mostly breakfast. I only help out at lunch."

"This is going to be a difficult pregnancy, Katie," Dr. Meadows warned. "You should be seeing a doctor in Los Angeles."

"I'm okay."

They reached the clinic, a stucco building near the fire station. Mostly used for locals and emergencies. There were two exam rooms and four hospital beds.

"New equipment?" Rachel supposed, seeing empty shipping crates.

"Yes, can you believe it? A defibrillator, a respirator, and an ultrasound. Several new monitors. We even have new blankets. Dr. Birmingham is very excited."

"Did the county finally approve your requests?"

"No, this was all donated. Anonymously."

"It looks expensive."

"Close to $40,000. That's why the town couldn't afford it."

"You must have a grateful patient somewhere," Rachel suggested.

"Thank God for that," Dr. Meadows agreed.

* * * * * *

It wasn't supposed to be a fire camp. The staging area was little more than a dry meadow behind a tall tree line, most of the forest fires being to the northeast. Black clouds filled the horizon, and everyone could smell the smoke. Wildfire season in Southern California was always bad, but they seemed to be getting worse. Camp 21 was an afterthought in case the fires turned south.

"This isn't going well," Captain Hasselhoff said. "There's no hot food, and these pre-packaged sandwiches are stale."

Six large tents housed twenty volunteer firemen, a doctor, two medics, and their supplies. Most of the tools were old, the better equipment being used to protect Wrightwood and Big Pines.

"Sadie? This is Hasselhoff," the captain said on the phone.

"Yes, Jonas. What do you need?" Mrs. Johnson replied, the café quiet after the morning rush.

"They assigned us to a patch below Fellow's Ridge. We're short of food, water, and beer. Can you help us out?"

"Manuel is with Captain Hernandez in Yosemite. There's no one here to watch the café."

Jonas heard commotion on the other end of the call. A momentary disagreement. Sadie wasn't happy.

"Little Manuel is going to drive Katie up. She'll get your food situation in order."

"That's nice of her. Everything considered."

"It's damn nice of her," Sadie said. "Seeing as how she's eight months pregnant. Make sure she doesn't overwork and has a comfortable cot. I want her back as soon as this thing is over."

"Yes, ma'am," Jonas promised.

Sadie hung up, turning to see Rachel already packing containers.

"You shouldn't be doing this," Sadie protested.

"It will be fun," Rachel replied, her eyes bright.

Half an hour later, the three of them were loading the pick-up truck behind the restaurant.

"Let me do that," Manny said. The older Manuel's sixteen-year-old son was a pleasant youth, skinny with long arms and bushy black hair.

"I'm okay," Rachel said, reaching for a box until Manny snatched it away from her.

"You could be due anytime. It's not safe," Manny insisted.

"What would you know about it?" Rachel asked.

"I have three older sisters, and they've all had babies," Manny answered.

Rachel put her hands around her stomach. Being small already, the bulge looked huge. Sometimes she had trouble walking.

"I can use the exercise," Rachel defended.

"You get plenty in the kitchen," Sadie criticized. "More than you should."

"A girl has to earn a living," Rachel insisted.

"A girl needs to be careful. For herself and her baby," Sadie said.

"The math is good," Rachel responded.

"You always say that. What does it even mean?" Sadie asked.

"That I'll be okay."

"Little Manuel, you watch this girl like an eagle," Sadie ordered. "Don't let her overdo it, even if you have to tie her down."

"I don't do that anymore," Rachel mentioned.

Manny was driving, Rachel in the passenger seat. In the five months she'd been living in Ketchum, she hadn't seen much of the surrounding mountains. Between cooking at the diner, fixing up her trailer, and working on her papers for Harvard, there were few opportunities to play tourist. And the fewer strangers who interacted with her, the less chance of being recognized.

"This is far," Rachel said, hanging on as the truck bounced along the rough gravel road.

"Not too far. Only feels that way because the road is so winding," he said.

"Do you have maps?"

Manny handed her his tablet with maps of the area already on the screen. Rachel began doing searches, finding the locations of the various fires, the deployment of the crews, and prevailing weather conditions. Then she activated a deeper search.

"What's that?" Manny asked.

"It's a satellite that evaluates changing weather conditions," she said, drawing down a series of sub-screens.

"I've never seen those before."

"It's a military satellite. They use it for determining launch conditions."

"To launch what?"

"Rockets. Space capsules. Nuclear missiles," Rachel clarified.

"Nuclear missiles!" Manny exclaimed.

"If they want to hit a target 8,000 miles away, they need exact data on wind and moisture."

"It looks secret," he said, glancing over to see the red flashing warnings on the small screen.

"Oh, it's definitely secret. Don't tell anybody," Rachel said, making sure her screening protocols were in place.

"You do strange things, Katie."

"Don't tell anybody about that, either."

They approached Fire Camp 21. It was just below a ridge looking east and north. Plumes of black smoke were seen in the distance.

"This is exciting," Rachel said, upright in her seat with a hand on the dashboard.

Manny tried not to stare. Even heavily pregnant, Katie was very sexy. Especially in a frilly yellow dress with a loose skirt. Her bleached blonde hair was nicely curled. The tinted eyeglasses mysterious. She always wore a floppy hat, and blush on her cheeks. He remembered his father's admonition not to objectify her.

"Hi, Katie!" someone shouted as they pulled in.

"Hey, Katie, making omelets?" another said.

"How's the baby doing?" a third inquired.

Rachel recognized a dozen men from Ketchum, and more who lived nearby. Captain Hasselhoff rushed up, looking harassed.

"Thanks for coming. We have crews coming back," Hasselhoff said as Manny helped Rachel from the truck. "The kitchen is a mess."

"Let me have a look," Rachel said, eager for the challenge. She quickly drew a crowd. Rachel noticed Dr. Meadows had been enlisted to treat burns and exhaustion.

"What can we do to help?" Big Willy asked.

Rachel studied the large dining tent. It was set up for feeding a few men at a time. None of the supplies were arranged properly.

"Manny, over here," she said. "This won't take long. Let's move these tables sideways. Four chairs on each side. Put the plates and utensils near the front. We'll need to hang fans."

Rachel rushed back and forth, reorganizing the equipment, directing how the generator needed to be positioned, firing up the gas stoves, and laying out the provisions. If anyone tried to disagree, Rachel firmly put them in their place.

"Anyone ever give you a nickname?" Captain Hasselhoff asked.

"I have a friend. She calls me the Little Hurricane."

Laughter broke out everywhere. The firemen, the nurses, the helpers. Even Manny.

"Little Hurricane it is," Hasselhoff pronounced.

"Who wants lunch?" Rachel summoned.

Throughout the afternoon, crews came and went. The August weather was hot, increasing the demand for water. Heatstroke was a problem. When Rachel wasn't cooking, she went to the First Aid tent, helping Dr. Meadows.

"Take a break, Katie," Meadows impatiently demanded. "You haven't stopped for a minute."

"You have too many patients," Rachel complained

"Can't be helped. Some fires get knocked down fast, and some don't. This is looking like a bad one," Meadows explained.

Rachel took a deep breath, thinking the smoke was becoming thicker, and went to the communications tent. Hasselhoff was there with Big Willy keeping track of the crews. Laptop computers supplied updates.

"Finally tiring out, Little Hurricane?" Hasselhoff asked with a grin.

"People keep throwing me out of their tents," Rachel replied.

"You can stay here as long as you want," Big Willy assured her.

Rachel sat in a folding chair at one of the laptops, going through a series of screens. She noticed WHD medical files were being provided for the volunteers, anticipating potential injuries. Thankfully, Katie Smith wasn't in the system.

"Careful with that computer," Hasselhoff warned.

Rachel tried not to laugh, thinking it little more than a calculator. Then she noticed something unusual.

"Captain Hasselhoff, you're not getting real-time updates," Rachel said in alarm.

"It happens. They'll catch up," Hasselhoff responded.

Rachel accessed topography charts, weather reports, and mapped out the fire areas.

"I don't like this," Rachel said.

"What is it?" Willy asked, taking the seat next to her.

"There should be another fire. Right here, at Ringwood. It's not on the tracking."

"Are you a fire chief now, Little Hurricane?" Willy said.

"I recognize patterns. Captain Hasselhoff, you have a problem," Rachel insisted.

"Ringwood? That's right below our ridge. We'd likely have an alert by now," Hasselhoff said, looking over her shoulder.

Rachel switched to a different feed, and then accessed a classified satellite, overriding a series of ominous skull & bones warnings.

"I don't think you're supposed to do that," Hasselhoff said.

"I'm not," Rachel replied, studying the screen.

Real-time scanning zeroed in on the hillside below the ridge. Rachel overlapped it to show prevailing wind patterns. A timer was ticking down.

"We have to evacuate! We have to evacuate now!" Rachel shouted, leaping from the chair and running from the tent.

"Willy, calm her down while I look at this," Hasselhoff said, taking her seat.

Rachel was out in the middle of the camp, waving her arms.

"Everyone, get in the trucks! Get in the trucks now! Leave the tents," she ordered, heading for the medical shelter. "Dr. Meadows, get the injured on the bus. Hurry, there isn't a moment to lose."

"Katie?" Meadows said in surprise.

"Do it, Catherine. Do it now."

Meadows had known Katie for several months. Seen her almost every day. Spent evenings in her home having delicious dinners and discussing Jane Austen. Katie Smith was a person to be taken seriously.

"Let's move, people. We're getting out of here," Meadows announced, directing her nurses.

Rachel ran back to the grub tent. "Manny, herd everyone into the buses. Have your truck ready to go. Hurry!"

Manny didn't debate her.

Men and women emerged from the tents where they'd been resting, seeing the commotion. Most didn't question it, heading for their vehicles. Rachel was out of breath, having to pause. She put her hands on her stomach, hoping her baby wasn't in danger.

"Jonas, what is this?" a firemen asked as Hasselhoff emerged from the communications tent.

"She's right. The wind is shifting fast, and it's strong. Leave the equipment, we're bugging out."

Rachel continued going from tent to tent, making sure there were no stragglers, even as the trucks and buses were escaping down the narrow dirt road. Then a tree on the ridge burst into flame. And another. The sky was suddenly red. Rachel stood still, staring. Mesmerized. There was something mathematical about the inferno.

"Katie, we've got to go," Hasselhoff said.

"What?" Rachel replied, frozen in place.

"Let's go! Let's go!" he called.

Rachel still wasn't moving. She seemed in a daze.

Hasselhoff picked her up and ran for Manny's truck. Manny was revving the engine. They would be the last vehicle out.

A burning branch blew across the camp, landing on a tent. Several more. Hasselhoff set Rachel on the tailgate and climbed in after her.

They heard a bark. Another bark, and a yelp.

"What's that?" Rachel asked, looking everywhere.

"Good Lord, it must be Mr. Hammer's dog. Goldie," Hasselhoff said, pointing back toward the ridge. "Someone must have left her tied to a tree."

Rachel was instantly off the tailgate, running back into camp as fast as her girth would allow. The collie was barking furiously, frightened by the smoke and crackling flames. Hasselhoff was yelling. Another tent caught fire.

Rachel found the elderly dog tied to a stump next to a water bowl. She took off her blouse, soaked it in the water, and put it over her face to suppress the smoke. Then she untied the leash.

"Come on, Goldie. Stay with me," Rachel said.

Goldie needed no coaxing, dragging her back to the truck. Rachel was glad to see it still there. Branches were falling everywhere as black smoke engulfed the camp. Hasselhoff raced to meet her, scooped her up, and ran, calling the dog as they all jumped in.

"Go, go, go!" Hasselhoff shouted, keeping hold of Rachel.

Manny floored the accelerator, the truck finding traction on the rough ground before bouncing up on the gravel road. After a few brief scares, they turned a bend and raced down a straightaway. The fire was soon going in a different direction.

"That was fucking stupid, girl," Hasselhoff complained.

"Yes, I know," Rachel agreed, hugging the old dog. "But it was worth it."

* * * * * *

Bob McLane sat in his truck at a mountain crossroad. He'd been to half a dozen villages branching off Route 2 without any luck. He picked up the article again. It was a small San Bernardino newspaper, giving background on the recent fires. One stood out;

When asked about the sudden evacuation of his fire camp, Captain Jonas Hasselhoff said that if it wasn't for the little hurricane, they wouldn't have made it out. He declined to elaborate.

Little Hurricane. That's what Martha always called Rachel. Sometimes Rory and Mrs. Benson did, too.

Speculation was that Rachel was faraway. Colorado Springs. Canada. Maybe even Switzerland. Could it be she had been in these mountains all along? Only a hundred miles from Canby Place?