He fished out a color picture and tossed it to her. Rina bent down and retrieved the photograph, her eyes still upon Abel. Slowly, she stood and allowed herself to look at the snapshot.

It was definitely Peter—and the man who claimed his name to be Abel Atwater. Both were younger—kids, in fact. They were wearing camouflage hats, white T-shirts, and camouflage pants, and had machine guns strapped across their shoulders—Decker’s left, Abel’s right. They had their free arms looped around each other, and were smiling broadly. Abel had once been well built, broad shoulders and good height—judging from where he came up to Peter, around 6'. Looking at him now, he didn’t seem much over 5'8".

But it was Peter who captured her attention—his grin so childlike, his face and skin so smooth…clean-shaven. She’d never seen him without a mustache, and was surprised at the Cupid’s bow shape of his upper lip. But it was his eyes that kept her spellbound. They were the same color, the same shape…but they were different. It was the expression, the gleam of anticipation—eager eyes. Something she’d never witnessed in him even when he was at his happiest—when they made love, when he was with his daughter, when he played ball with her sons. Nothing, nothing, had ever lit up his eyes the way they shone in this shutter-snap of history. Sadly, she knew in her heart that nothing ever would.

“I have more,” Abel whispered from behind her shoulder.

Rina jumped. The clopping of his prosthesis notwithstanding, she hadn’t heard him move. He was a few inches from her, reeking of sweat. Immediately, she backed away.

Abel said, “I’m sorry if I scared you—”

“That’s okay.”

Abel’s eyes went to the gun. “You know how to use that thing?”

“Very well,” Rina said.

“’Cause it’s dangerous if you don’t.”

“I do.”

“Look…” Abel gave her a strained smile. “Why don’t you just go in the house, and I’ll get out of here. We’d both feel more comfortable that way. I’m really sorry about this intrusion. Tell Pete I’m sorry.” He threw his hands in the air. “I’m always messing something up.”

Rina didn’t speak right away. Finally, she said, “You said you had more pictures.”

“Yes,” Abel said. “Yes, ma’am, I do. I carry my past in my pockets, what can I tell you?” He peered inside his wallet and pulled out some snapshots. “These were taken in Da Nang, whenever we had a few spare moments. Oftener than you’d think. Hours of mind-numbing boredom mixed with a few minutes of terror. Never could relax. When you did, you’d get caught with your pants down. Kind of like police work, don’t you think?”

“I suppose.”