“Is there more to the story?”
“There’s a moral to the story. The government can’t be trusted to keep its employees and their families safe. So now what I’m about to say is just hypothetical because I kinda like ya, Jones.”
They shared flirty smiles.
“I’d hate to have to kill you. I can’t imagine there are too many other shrinks in this city that would barter with me.”
Luke frowned. “You’re probably right.”
“So imagine this for a moment. What if a group of highly trained, high ranking officials from various branches of government, including the FBI, CIA, DEA, the military—SEALS teams etc., formed a secret group? And this group included immediate family members and the sole purpose of this hypothetical group might be to train its members in a very elite type of self-defense.”
“Is that what happened?”
“Please, Jones … I said this was hypothetical,” she scoffed.
“Okay, hypothetically what type of self-defense training?”
“Depends. Some might be trained to avert or possibly escape capture. It would depend on their physical and psychological capabilities. Others might be trained to protect and defend.”
“Like an unofficial army?”
“Hypothetically, yes. If there were an emergency, say a kidnapping or hostage situation involving a member, there would be no political hoops to jump through, because after all—the group doesn’t exist—therefore, the ‘elite’ members who are not officially employed by the government could be called upon to extract the captured member from the dangerous situation.”
“So are we talking martial arts training?”
“For the elite members?”
“Yes.”
“Everything. They would be trained by the best and taught everything they know. Think of it as a special forces boot camp on steroids.”
“These members are trained to kill?”
“Yes.”
Luke nodded, his Adam’s apple bobbed with a hard swallow. “So hypothetically, if you were part of a group like this would you be considered an elite member?”
“Most of those members would be trained from an early age … say fourteen. They would be single and in top physical and mental condition. You have a two thousand dollar bet with Gabe that I’m going to finish first tomorrow. So I think you already know the answer to your question.”
Luke nodded again.
“So now I have a question for you, Dr. Jones. As you can imagine, someone who watched their friend die would no longer be considered in top “mental condition,” and would therefore no longer be called upon to save someone’s life. My question is … how long would it take this person to walk in a room and not think of weapons or the means to kill the people in it?”
He rested his chin on his fist. “I honestly don’t know. Maybe never.”
She appreciated his honesty. Luke had become her truth. But it was just another confirmation that she would never be the same again. That confirmation from the doctor himself left her with two options: bow out gracefully in a woe-is-me-you-deserve-someone-better way, or get the guy with a fuck-it-I-deserve-happiness-as-much-as-anyone-else attitude.
On the precipice of a lethal carb-coma, it was best to delay that decision until after the triathlon.
Chapter Thirty-Four
Knight
The “streak” of Peaceful Woods in red rain boots and not much else zipped through the yards wielding a weed eater. Normally she tried to set pace with Bill on his mower to make her negotiated wage seem justified. But on that particular day she set a new record, staying a notch above the subpar quality the residents had come to expect from Bill’s complete lack of attention to detail.
“It’s here!” she squealed, while hanging the weed eater in Bill’s garage.
The sexy lawn lady channeled her inner child on Christmas, chasing her new red baby down the private drive, boots smacking, hands waving.
“She’s so damn sexy!” Jillian grinned as Sara, her training consultant, climbed out of Jillian’s new red Mercedes.
“You’re something else. I don’t think in the history of the company anyone has ever earned a car this fast.” Sara handed her the key and waved to her husband who pulled up behind them in a minivan. “I’m proud to say I trained you.”
Jillian took the key. “Yes, I couldn’t have done it without you.” A lie, but Jillian reserved her arrogant gloating personality for Jackson and only Jackson. “You didn’t need to deliver it. I could have gone to the dealership.”
“Nope, I trained you so it’s tradition that I deliver the car to you.” She opened the passenger door to the minivan. “Enjoy it while you can. Someday your chariot will have dual sliding doors and a DVD player on the ceiling.”
“Bye, Sara.” Jillian laughed.
She ran her hand along the shiny paint.
“It’s an overpriced Jetta,” Jackson chimed.
“Shut it.” She grinned while feathering her fingers over the glossy red coating. It was an overpriced Jetta. “But it’s a gift so who cares.”
“Speaking of gifts. I talked with Knox.”
Jillian stiffened.
“As we already assumed he took care of the incident.”
“Why does he think Trigger was there?”