Chapter Eight

 “We’re waiting for a consignment of wheelchairs, but there is a delay.” Chantal made her last adjustment and moved the right leg, gently feeling around the lady’s severed joint. “How many prosthetics have you worn?”

“About ten.”

“Twelve,” her husband corrected. “They all cause her pain, and I’m tired of seeing my wife in such agony. She can barely walk.”

“Can you stand again?” Chantal helped the fragile woman stand on her good leg, conversing in English with the multi-lingual couple who resided in Colombo. “How does that feel?”

“A little better. I feel relief in my back.”

“Good. I want you to rest while we adjust the prosthetic. I’ll also need to work on your back for the next two months.”

“Thank you, doctor.”

“Don’t cry, dear. Let’s fit a temporary limb until your next visit.”

Once they’d left, Chantal went to her office and reached for her voice recorder. “54-year-old female. Victim of the Easter Sunday Bombings. Physical evaluation revealed asymmetrical leg length, restricted lumbopelvic motion. The working diagnosis is sacroiliac joint dysfunction, with lumbar facet syndrome secondary to a leg length inequality causing an alteration in gait. Intervention requires chiropractic management, including manipulative therapy to the lumbar spine and pelvis. In addition, the center’s prosthetist will shorten her prosthetic device. Additionally, a wheelchair has been requested.”

Gage appeared in the doorway and waited for her to pack away her recorder. She took her time, first wrapping it in a protective cloth—the device cost over two thousand dollars. Although Chantal could afford luxury equipment, it didn’t mean she’d be careless with her money.

“Don’t you have a recorder app on your phone?”

“Not as reliable. What do you need?” She powered up her laptop and reached for her monitor wipes.

“You—in the break room—ASAP.”

“I’m busy.”

“It’s two o’clock, and you haven’t eaten a thing. Lunch is up.”

“I—”

“Remember what I said about having a healthy principal?”

“Fine.” Chantal switched—grumbling in another language to herself as she followed him out of her office.

“You said ‘bateau.’ Are you speaking French?” Gage asked.

“Yeah.”

“I also speak a little,” Gage confessed. “I’m not well-versed.”

“I’m definitely fluent,” she replied. “Although I’ve grown up in the States, I’m half-French. My father was… nevermind.”

Gage suddenly turned, and she walked straight into his chest. He eased back and held her arms. “I’m sorry about your father. I’ve read about your history and—”

“And he was the best of men. The greatest daddy in the world, but it happened a long time ago. I think and talk about him often.”

“I’m glad.” Gage squeezed her arms. “I lost my mother when I was a kid—and she was the perfect mom.”

“Gage—”

Dropping his hands, he turned on his heel. “Your curry is getting cold, and I can’t promise that a team member won’t claim it.”

Chantal had never seen so many bodies crammed into one room. Bodies filled with testosterone. Alexis stood in the corner, chatting with Gannon, and Chantal recognized her friend’s flirtatious stance. Alexis liked the strapping agent. Gage cleared a path to a table and sat Chantal down like she was a kid.

“Eat. Dishan says this is your favorite.” Gage placed a steaming bowl under her nose, and Chantal grinned in surprise.

“Dishan! Is this from your aunt’s restaurant?”

“Yes, ma’am. Agent Hendrix asked me to recommend a lunch you couldn’t resist.”

Gage joined her at the table and dug into an identical bowl. He sat back and closed his eyes. “Holy shit. This is heaven.”

“I’m a regular at his aunt’s place. Totally yummy.” Chantal poked her fork into the wet rice and polished her bowl as she listened to the easy camaraderie between the teams. The rest of the center’s staff wandered in and joined the lunch party.

A young MSD agent with thick brown hair sat down beside her and peered into his bowl, looking hesitant.

“The curry is good. Try it.”

After cautiously tasting the rice, he smiled. “I like it.”

“What’s your name again?”

“Jason, ma’am.”

“Please don’t call me ma’am. I’m your age.”

“You’re older than Jase.” Gage concentrated on eating. “He’s only twenty-five. Youngest MSD agent on the planet.”

“I may be the youngest, but I ain’t the newest on Team Five. That’s Kohen.”

Chantal glanced at the medic, who sat in a corner. His surly attitude didn’t gel with the rest of the agents. She wondered how Kohen got along with his new team leader.

“You’re from Colorado,” Jason confirmed.

Chantal smiled and wiped her mouth with a paper napkin. “So are you? I recognize your accent.”

“Whereabouts?” he asked.

“Castle Pines,” she answered.

“Wow. That’s super fancy. I’m from Lincoln Park.”

“I visited Lincoln Park often and loved the arts district.”

“I painted a street mural there once,” Jason said proudly. They chatted about his passion for art.

Gage’s enthusiasm for curry drew Chantal’s attention. He tore off a piece of flatbread, ignoring the crumbs scattering around his bowl as he laughed with Dishan in a debate of Rugby versus American Football.

In one short day, Gage not only had begun to win her over, but he’d done the same with her local guards and the clinic’s staff. The guy was dangerous and deceptively easy-going. She’d heard from Martin that Gage’s MSD team had an excellent reputation, and she could see why. Their leader seemed fair and direct. Yeah—Gage Hendrix was an ignitable stick of dynamite that she should best avoid. After all, he was a diplomatic agent, which meant he’d soon be racing to his next assignment.

After lunch, she stepped into the rehabilitation center and observed the prosthetic training in progress. Her heart squeezed as she watched a group of children familiarize themselves with their new limbs and the training equipment. They varied in ages, from four to twelve years old, and Chantal had worked with all of them over the past months. Some of their parents and relatives sat on the far side and Chantal waved hello.

Most of the kids were victims of landmines. And one had been caught in an extremist attack. All of them were eager to discover their abilities in their new world. Their dedication warmed her heart—a significant contrast to their broken spirits when they’d first visited the center.

Chantal chose a seat as the local therapist interacted with the kids.

“Can I join you?” Alexis sat beside Chantal and smiled. “They’ve come a long way.”

“They have.”

“What’s wrong?”

 “I’m a little tired today.”

“It’s more than that—I can tell.”

“I miss Pearl and little Aysha.” Chantal worried her lip as she watched a tyke fall and jump back up. “Do you ever think about having kids?”

“Not anytime soon. My biological clock is broken.” Alexis glanced at Chantal. “Are you getting broody?”

How did Chantal answer? It wasn’t a secret—just a sad story not worth sharing. “It doesn’t matter. We’re surrounded by children who need all the love we can give.”

“This job. When I first volunteered, I had no idea how rewarding it could be.”

Chantal glanced at her friend. “You’re doing awesome work.”

“Speaking of awesome… we’re surrounded by hunky gods. You gotta admit—your mom’s vocation has its perks.”

Chantal laughed. “Those agents are here for a reason.”

“Maybe two reasons? I like the big guy—Gannon. He looks like he bench-presses trucks. Maybe he could bench press me.”

“Alexis!”

“What? Their chief is also a hottie.”

“He’s called a ‘Team Leader.’” Chantal gritted her teeth.

“A cute team leader. I like his eyes.”

Standing, Chantal forced a smile. “I need to get back to my patients. Calm those hormones and tidy the reception desk. There are files everywhere.”

“Don’t exaggerate.” Alexis kicked her leg. “A couple of extra binders. You’re such a control freak.”

Chantal hated that term, even though she might agree. Her ordered existence was her fortress and now more than ever, she needed to remain focused. Especially with an explosive agent shadowing her every move.