“I know.” She glanced at a horse farm as they drove by. A beautiful chestnut-brown mare had a new foal that stood next to her on skinny little legs.

They chatted the rest of the way to her hotel. When Rick parked in the parking lot, they got out of the car, and she stretched her hands above her head. “I need to walk off the ride.”

Hand in hand, they strolled to the river and walked slowly along the path, knowing that at the end of the walk, they would have to say goodbye.

Bill’s words rolled through her mind. He could read people like a book. Rick had mentioned that several times. He relied on Bill to help him determine fact from fiction when questioning assets or prisoners, and to give him insight into the mental health and well-being of his team in more stressful situations. What did Bill see that had him constantly bucking against Rick and Cynthia pursuing a relationship?

At one point, she stopped walking and looked up at Rick. He had an attractive presence and was such a confident leader. Courage and authority radiated from him. She imagined a roomful of men would all turn to him for direction if the need arose. She looked at her reflection in his sunglasses, trying to see in her what he apparently saw.

“Do you really love what you do?” she blurted out.

He raised an eyebrow, and his face remained stoic. “I believe I’m doing what God has for me to do.”

“That doesn’t actually answer my question.”

He shrugged. “I’m gifted and trained. When I’m in the field, I feel like I’m truly me. Everything I do and say and feel is a culmination of natural talents, instinct, and the best training in the world.”

Emotion surged into her throat. She remembered the Rick she’d first met, the one who had moved with a weapon like it was a part of him. “So, you feel more like you when you’re pointing a gun at someone than when you’re with me?”

He snatched his sunglasses off. “Whoa. Where did that come from?”

She looked up at the purple and orange hues of the sky reflecting the setting sun. She remembered her gloved hands covered in Bill’s blood as she dug a bullet out of his chest, the sound of the saw in the operating room removing Ozzy’s leg. For the first time since the hotel in Katangela, she faced the truth about herself, about what she’d experienced and what scared her right now. “I don’t think I can cope well after having a front-row seat to watching you do your job.”

Her gaze shifted to his face. Emotions swirled in his eyes. “Cynthia, you can’t mean—”