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She had hurt me, but that was a long time ago. What I had said in my letter was true ... I wasn't that Matt O'Connell.Oh no ... the farm boy from Decatur was long gone.What was even stranger was the fact I was driving a new Toyota Land Cruiser — the vehicle of choice of terrorists throughout the world. For the last few years I had been killing people who were driving and riding in Land Cruisers in Afghanistan and Iraq.My mood changed when I thought about the fact that six weeks ago I had been in an almost identical silver Land Cruiser, just liberated from a newly dead Syrian official. He had been in the wrong place at the wrong time as I sent my platoon smashing into an encampment of Syrian troops just inside the Syrian border.About midnight we had met a Syrian patrol on the Iraq side of the border. It was not a friendly meeting. They killed my point man Corporal Kidd, and then ran toward the safety of the border crossing as we counter attacked.I held my platoon at the border until. Poor ole man."Anne hurried upstairs and quickly dressed in an old cambrick shirt and her father's serge trousers, her gardening costume. She pulled on her boots and hurried out to her new stable. Both horses had been shot in the head and lay crumpled in their stalls. She took a deep breath, swallowing a curse and feeling her gut convulse. The barn cat meowed at her from the rafters.She went back to the house, traded her weapon for an apple, told Bess to hide in the smokehouse if anyone came, and then headed for town, trotting and then walking and trotting again. It took her nearly a half-hour to get to the law office she had so often visited. It was closed and locked. She looked up. The glaring sun was just starting to burn off the haze, and she guessed it might be seven o'clock. Then she heard the clang of a hammer striking steel and walked quickly to the blacksmith's shed."Mr. Jamison," she said when she got her breath. "I'm in trouble. I need help."He set aside the hinge he was.
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