Shielding Instinct, page 18
Hawkeye pulled his chin back, his brows pulled in tight. Then, he shifted to drive and started toward the drive-through window.
“The police were there with the paramedics. They put her in restraints and transported her to the psych ward. That same night, she was moved to a dedicated psychiatric hospital, and the bad part was I didn’t get to follow Jane Doe to the queen bee. Now, it’s up to the person who took my place to figure that out.”
Hawkeye just shook his head in disbelief. “No wonder the cat and chihuahua show on the plane down here was a nothing-burger for you.”
“Not a nothing-burger, but I couldn’t allow my face to be identifiable in the social media circus that was sure to arise. Even with my new role, I can’t be recognizable. I let my hair fall in my face. Kept my face averted. And hunkered down.”
“I see. Well, let’s get your meds and get you hunkered down at the hotel.”
“With any luck,” Petra said as he pulled up to the window, “the crazy is done for today.”
“With any luck?” Hawkeye repeated. “What else could possibly go wrong?”
Chapter Twenty-Six
Petra
As Petra, Hawkeye, and Cooper entered the lobby, a large sign faced the automatic doors. Hotel guests were asked to check in with the main desk as Emergency Services tried to account for everyone’s safety.
That made sense to Petra. After all, they were visitors and probably had no family or friends on the island to notice they were missing.
As they stood in line, waiting their turn, Petra wrapped her arms around Hawkeye’s waist, and he held her to him protectively. It was a good feeling.
Stepping forward, Petra saw they had a printout with the guest names on double-lined sheets. “Hermione Armstrong.”
“Yes,” the desk staffer said, striking her name. “Thank you.”
“Michael Kesse,” Hawkeye said, and the woman flipped the page.
As she struck a line through Hawkeye’s name, Petra read: Herbert Johnson family (5). She leaned forward. “The Johnsons haven’t checked in yet? It’s late for them to be out with the children.”
“You’re friends?” the staffer asked.
“I know Herb and Jenny. They’re here with their three children.”
The staffer jotted, “Jenny + 3 children.” She looked up. “Have you seen them today? Do you know where they might have gone? We’re collecting the information for the authorities.”
“I saw them this morning. I don’t know about their plans. Sorry. Just while we’re here,” Petra pointed toward the supply cart behind the woman. “Could we get a couple bottles of water, please?”
When the woman turned, Petra took a picture of the roster, then slid her camera back away as she smiled and accepted the waters.
Did Hawkeye see all that? Yes.
Did he ask? No.
They moved to the elevators, where a large group was already waiting.
Hawkeye stepped back with Cooper. They’d wait for a clear car.
Petra moved over to the column, pulled up the roster photo, and sent it on to Rowan with a few choice shocked-face emojis. Then she held up her camera to record a selfie video, saying, “After a harrowing day on the island, the authorities are asking the people at the hotels to check in as they try to figure out who is missing. Guess who’s missing. I have one more thing that I didn’t mention before.”
She tapped send.
A moment later, Rowan was on the phone, and without so much as a hello, he said, “What didn’t you mention?”
“The whole family—mom, dad, and kids—all wore matching necklaces.”
“A family gift?” he asked. “Any idea what that was about?”
“I asked. Jenny said that they wanted to renew their vows to each other and include the family. Then she amended it to say that she wanted the children to understand that they were telling them they were loved and part of a bigger happy family. I got stuck on the word ‘bigger.’” Petra was quiet as she struggled with the best course of action. “Nope, I’m not going to say that out loud.”
“Come on, Petra,” Rowan reassured her, “you can say anything to me.”
“Work colleague,” Petra mumbled.
“Good friends,” he countered.
“In this instance, work colleague.”
Rowan sighed. “Give me a hint.”
“Soldiers who I talked to at the base would tell me stories that freaked them out. Like, they’d be walking along and suddenly feel the need to tie their shoe, an overwhelming need. They’d bend over, and a bullet would fly over their back. That impulse would save their lives. Sometimes, it’s a chill running up their spine that makes them freeze long enough for their buddy to say, “Hey, man, don’t move. That next step is a trip wire.”
“It’s happened to me more than once,” Rowan said.
“The daughter yanked her necklace off and jetted it toward the sea. When she wasn’t looking, I went down and picked it up. I have it in my pocket.”
“Text the picture to me. Let me see what you’ve got.”
With Rowan on the line, Petra scanned the room to make absolutely sure she wasn’t being observed. Hawkeye and Cooper stood patiently, giving her some privacy.
She surreptitiously snapped a picture of the pendant and forwarded it to Rowan, then heard the ping as it landed in his messages.
There was silence on the other line.
“Shit.” Rowan hissed. “Are you kidding me right now?”
Petra’s lungs lost their elasticity, making her next breath shallow and ineffectual. “This has meaning to you, then?”
“Yeah, Petra, it means stay away from these people. Don’t be friendly with them, don’t talk to them, don’t let them eat or drink near you. Stay the hell away.”
“Okay,” Petra agreed. “I’ll stay away. Anything else I should know?”
“I’m coming down there. I’ll be on the first flight I can find, tonight if possible.”
“Well, okay then.” She blinked at the wall. What the hell? “Cheers to a sleepless night for both of us.”
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Petra
Hawkeye was in his head as they walked to the elevator.
It had been a long, trying day. There was no need for banter or smiles.
As a matter of fact, Petra decided that she wouldn’t wear any masks at all with him.
She was simply going to say the words that sprang to her lips, express the emotions as they rose and shifted, not worrying if he could keep up or was uncomfortable with them. With her.
Because if any part of her could scare him off, she’d rather know now.
In past relationships, when she lowered her mask, it never went well.
It was a honed skill from childhood that she tried to present only the side of her that she thought was palatable.
Petra had figured it was an okay strategy for a casual date, or for a roll in the hay.
And she still thought that was true.
It had kept things calm so that she could have someone reasonably companionable accompany her to dinner parties, since she hated those miserable, smug questions about her being single.
She’d had fine talks and good meals, all very C+ when she naturally found straight ‘A’ s to be easily in reach.
Well, academically and professionally, that was true.
Relationship-wise? Not so much.
She regularly pissed off folks when her neurodivergence made her ability to process quickly and extrapolate out the variety of endpoints, which inevitably proved true. And people found her odd in ways that they couldn’t put a finger on. Mainly that had to do with how she communicated. A neurodivergent conversation was very different from a neurotypical one.
Better to mask.
Better to shapeshift.
When Petra had her wonky eyeball, she’d teased Hawkeye that she was an alien. But in some ways, she felt like that. It was just part of her variety of brain wiring.
Constantly second-guessing, always dealing with imposter syndrome.
She had a PhD. She’d moved through Quantico training. She was a badge-carrying supervisory special agent in the FBI's Behavioral Analysis Unit, where she used her knowledge of psychology and crime-solving skills to safeguard her country by spearheading the new world of propaganda and mind security.
And yet every time she badged herself into the J. Edgar Hoover building, Petra felt like she was wearing a costume—she was cosplaying—and at any moment, the guards would discover that she didn’t belong there and toss her out.
Or she would be presenting research to her peers, and again, it felt like she was acting on a stage. It didn’t matter that this, too, was a symptom of her brain wiring.
So little was known.
Medical research in neurodivergence was almost all centered around boys’ outward inability to sit still. Girls’ hyperactivity was often internal, with racing, catapulting minds.
Women of Petra’s generation and older—like her mom and grandma—were just now getting their diagnoses. And at this late stage, they were pissed at the amount of time they had spent suffering through trying to be something they simply weren’t and the amount of medical gaslighting they’d endured.
The light bulb goes off, and life makes a whole lot more sense.
Tamika got her diagnosis, too.
Yup, both friends sailed around in the same neurodivergent boat. Which probably explained why their relationship was so deep and such a relief to each of them.
Hawkeye, now he was interesting. He talked about his sister Cora like his relationship with her gave him a solid platform of understanding. And that he mentioned Cora’s neurodivergence and not his own meant that he’d been through an assessment and deemed neurotypical.
Could a relationship work between them?
Petra liked Hawkeye more than she ever remembered liking someone. Liked who he was, how he acted, what he thought, and how he expressed himself. She liked the way he smiled, and how he interacted with his team and his dog. Liked how her body relaxed when he touched her. How he was a lightning rod, grounding all of the sizzle and spark that ran through her body when he held her hand.
She felt more aligned with and more “right” with him than she’d ever felt.
It seemed to Petra that they might be wrapping a warp of understanding, shared experiences, and stories told, on which they could weave themselves a solid relationship.
“Here we are,” Hawkeye said, coming to a stop.
He had been silent the entire way up. “Your mind is obviously whirring.” Cooper came to a sit by his side while Hawkeye tapped the keycard on the locking mechanism. “Would you be willing to share that thought?” he asked.
“Darwin said it was survival of the fittest. And most people would look at someone like you and think that your kind of genes are the ones worth handing down. I was wondering if you have children.”
“No.” He pressed the door wide and gestured that she should go in first. “You?”
“No.”
“Most people would look at someone like me…” he repeated, letting the last part drift off. It was an interrogation technique meant to elicit a broader understanding of a concept. Or maybe, it was confusion that she would say something like that. Which would be fair.
“I’m playing that sentence over and over in my head,” she said. “It was quite rude, and then I coupled that with ‘Did you procreate?’ and it sounds terrible.” Petra wanted to scamper away but made herself stand her ground. No masks. He wanted her thoughts. There they were. “My shower or yours?”
“Your preference. I didn’t hear it that way. I heard that you had an alternative understanding of Darwin’s phrase.”
“I think maybe I do.” Okay, that was a surprising response from him. “Who do you think is fittest?” Petra waited while Hawkeye gathered a towel and a pair of sleep pants.
“Cooper load,” he pointed toward his bed and snapped his fingers. “I’ve never sat down and considered it. I guess I fall into the category of ‘most people.’ I’m going to pause and ask if you’re nervous right now.”
She blinked at him. Overwrought might be a better word. “It was an emotional day.”
He reached for her hands and held them between both of his, bringing them up to rest on his chest. “But brainy stuff helps?”
“It does. It forces me away from my lizard brain and fight or flight.”
“I’m going to take you back to Darwin in a second because I’m really curious. But first, I wanted to tell you how proud I am of you. On the beach today, you had everything in hand. You dealt with trying circumstances masterfully.”
“Survival of the calmest. I like it when I can offer something. If I have nothing, I get anxious. A panic attack adds fuel to the fire. It’s contagious, especially on a plane.”
“Yes, we were just talking about the plane on the drive over here,” Hawkeye let go of her hand as she turned and went to her room, and he followed behind her. “Why, especially on a plane?”
“Okay, you got me, I shouldn’t have phrased it that way.” She opened the bathroom door and leaned over the tub to turn on the water, letting it heat. “Anxiety contagion was studied in airports, and they found that a single person at a gate showing signs of anxiety increased the anxiety of everyone in the area, which stands to reason.”
“My sister does that, too.” He was grinning.
“What’s that? Have anxiety attacks?” Petra threw a towel over the bar within arm’s reach of the tub.
“Yes, to the anxiety attacks, and they can be difficult. Also, leap from thought to thought like rocks in a raging stream. But, just now, I was referring to the end phrase. You said, ‘which stands to reason.’ You made some connection, made some mental leap there, but if you don’t take me along for the ride, I have no idea why it would stand to reason.”
“I’m just going to undress and get in, and then you can follow,” Petra said, and she couldn’t imagine a less sexy introduction to their being naked together.
But honestly, she didn’t have it in her to do anything more than peel off these clothes and maybe lift her foot over the side.
To be even more honest, nothing about this felt nervous. Petra could make it a thing, but that would be the stuff of novels and rated-R movies. Petra wanted the sting of hot water and the solace of Hawkeye’s hands on her. The fewer steps getting there the better.
“Yeah, sure,” Hawkeye said, shifting from foot to foot, then he turned his back to give her a moment of privacy.
Since they were about to be naked in the shower together, she wasn’t sure she understood the move, but it had a charming, gentlemanly feel to it. And since she was wincing and gyrating to get out of her clothes, the gesture was much appreciated.
“Which stands to reason,” she said, tugging at the string of her bikini top. “Think about a zebra on the periphery of a herd that perceives a possible threat. That zebra stills and focuses on assessing. The rest of the herd responds in kind. Danger for one could mean danger for all.”
“Got it,” Hawkeye said. “Sort of like yawning might have started as a signal that it was time for a tribe to go to bed.”
“Yes. If someone yawns, it tells the tribe that things feel safe and sleepy. That they aren’t on hyper-awareness. They can pass the feeling of safety around.” Petra slid behind the curtain and was once again grateful for a moment of privacy as the pain of the first water on her abrasions made her face deform in agony.
She could hear Hawkeye getting undressed. Then he stepped behind the curtain to stand with her.
“Darwin?” he asked, bottles of shampoo and conditioner in his hands.
Darwin indeed. Ho-o-o-o-lyyyy shit.
She licked her lips and forced her gaze to meet his. “Survival of the fittest means that if you have the right traits, you have a better shot at living,” she stammered. At least in the shower, he wouldn’t see her drooling. Small favors.
He pressed her shoulder until she turned away from him. “You keep going with that thought. I’m going to start with your hair, and then I’m going to clean the blood out of your cuts. You’re in worse shape than I thought. I’d hoped that once the dried blood was off, you’d have a few small cuts. I’m so sorry.” He kissed her shoulder. “I’m so grateful you put yourself through that and saved Terry’s life. God, woman, you are so damned brave. You are astonishing.” He dropped another kiss—and held his lips there a little longer.
She liked how he lingered like that. “I…” Sensations and thoughts overwhelmed Petra. Panic clutched her lungs.
“Petra,” he said, “you’re okay. Everything’s okay. You’re safe. It’s over. I’ve got you now.”
She nodded her head.
“Put your hands on the wall in front of you. Go back to one subject. You’re showing me something new about Darwin. Here are my fingers on your scalp.”
Petra took a minute to breathe and center. She focused on her index finger, which lay on the white plastic wall, and the gentle swirls Hawkeye traced over her scalp. “Survival of the fittest sounds like pulling yourself up by the bootstraps, like rugged individualism. But, in human history, people have always depended on others for survival. People get good at one skill and market that skill from storyteller to shaman to stone cutter. It was—and is—a rare person who attempts to go it alone. And that’s why ostracism was one of the worst possible punishments. Like being left alone on an island. Buck’s Island here in St. Croix, for example.”
“You’re straying again. I’ll ask about Buck’s Island later. About Darwin, what I hear is that survival of the fittest means the one who can contribute in some way. Can follow societal rules. Probably the one that is seen as a good person.”
“Exactly. That’s… people who can form alliances and make easy friendships. That doesn’t work out great for me.”
“What are you talking about?” he asked. “You’re friendly.”
“Am I? Hmm. I don’t think of myself as friendly. Since I’m neurodivergent, it’s more likely that people think of me as odd. I’m fine with that,” she threw in, lest he thought she was looking for compliments or even pity. “There are actually scientific studies which say that just from looking at the face of someone who is neurodivergent, neurotypical people think there’s something off that they couldn’t place, and so they assume a red flag and distance themselves.”
