My Heart’s Home by Kris Michaels

Chapter 2

Cam walked against the flow of traffic, cutting in between people heading toward his gate. He caught sight of a familiar figure ahead of him. A quick jog to the right avoided a family with three strollers and a luggage cart blocking over half of the extended walkway. He caught up with John and started to walk on his right-hand side. The man jumped and twisted to look at him. "Damn, dude didn't mean to spook you." Cam chuckled.

"Nah, you didn't. It’s just that this eye doesn't have the peripheral vision it once did."

"Gotcha. You heading to B terminal?"

"I am," John admitted as they walked, weaving in and out of the mass of humanity circling the Atlanta airport.

"Me too. What time is your flight?" Cam wanted breakfast. Real food. The Danish he’d grabbed from Blessing this morning wasn't enough to feed a hungry gnat.

"Not until ten-thirty. I figured I'd camp out at gate B-24 until my flight was called." John went left, and Cam ducked right, missing a woman whose face was buried in her phone and wasn't watching where she was going. "Damn, Jaxson is going to have a time getting to his gate."

"He should get one of those carts." John turned to him and almost smiled.

"He should. Hey, let's stop here. I'll buy breakfast." Cam nodded to the restaurant on the concourse. John hesitated and glanced down the way. "Come on, your gate is right there, mine is two past it, and we both have almost three hours before they'll start boarding. Free food, my man, and coffee. Hot coffee."

John did smile at that, and Cam winked at him, leading the way to the hostess stand. When they were seated with coffee, he leaned back in his chair. "So, home is in Maine?"

"Yeah, just my gramps, but it is all the home I have." John picked up his backpack and fished in the main compartment. The guy rolled his eyes and removed that thick envelope of letters again before he fished out a bottle of over-the-counter painkillers. Cam nodded to the envelope. "Mind if I take a look at them?"

John shrugged and popped two pills, chugging coffee to swish them down. Cam slid the envelope closer, but the waiter came up to take their orders before he could take a look. When the waiter left, Cam slid the first carefully folded piece of paper out of the manila envelope. He unfolded it and read the neatly printed words.

Dear Mr. Roster,

My teacher, Ms. Carrington, said you were in the Army. My uncle is in the Marines, and he says the Army is cool but not as cool as the Marines. Do you think that's true? Captain America chose the Army, not the Marines, so like how much cooler could it be?

Ms. Carrington says she thinks the military can be lonely because you don't get a lot of time to do other things. I play three sports, lacrosse, hockey, and baseball. Do you play any sports in the Army? I watched the Army-Navy football game with my dad. I liked the Army's uniform, but it isn't as cool as the University of Maryland's uniforms. Have you seen them?

Anyway, thank you for being in the military.

Ryan Andrews

Cam chuckled and folded the letter with care. As much as John hedged, the guy had kept the notes, and he'd put them in his carry-on luggage. Whether or not he'd admit it, those letters were important to the guy for some reason. "You said last night these helped you get through some shit days."

John reached across and pulled the envelope back. He stared down at the thick stack of papers for a minute. "Yeah. Kids are cool."

"That they are. I coached baseball at Ramstein. That is one thing pushing paper is good for, you know? I got to leave on time most nights. Those kids were great. I got a charge out of them. Nobody's told them they couldn't do or be what they dream of being. Kind of nice to be around someone who thinks anything is possible." Coaching the kids had started as mandatory fun. Volunteering was an unwritten requirement in the Air Force—if you wanted to move up, you moved outward and helped. Once he'd put a season under his belt, he was hooked.

John nodded and took a drink of his coffee. "So, OSI?"

Cam nodded. "Loved being in the field. Management, not so much, but you do the best you can, right?"

"Promoted yourself out of a job." John chuckled.

"I did," Cam admitted with a laugh. "I've been looking for different security firms to hire on with, but Blessing gave me a lead to chase down." He glanced at his watch. "Waiting until business hours to make that call.”

"Why a security firm?"

Cam shrugged. "Military people are in demand for private security."

John sat back as the waiter delivered their breakfast. Cam picked up his fork and knife, ready to dive into the stack of pancakes on his plate, when John commented, "Yeah, sure, people with your skill set."

Cam took a bite of his pancakes before he answered. "Any skill set. They are looking for disciplined people, and to tell the truth, everything I know about investigations can be taught to a person willing to learn. The biggest thing is attention to detail. Finding significant inconsistencies, for one."

John stopped with a forkful of scrambled eggs halfway to his mouth. "Like what?"

"Like exact same stories from multiple points of view." He took another bite of his pancakes.

"Explain that."

"Memories are recollections of an event. Each recollection is not a recollection of the specific act, but it is a memory of your memory. Over time they become… I don't know, sullied, I guess, and they change. That's human nature. So, if you have a group of people telling you the exact same thing without any variances, those are staged answers. Dig?"

"So, no one remembers the actual event but recalls memories of their memories."

"Yep, that's the way it works unless you have PTSD. Those major traumatic memories are frozen in time up here." He tapped his temple. "The person relives that event in exact detail over and over. Strange how the mind works."

"Where did you learn this?" John, who was slow to start eating, had now demolished most of his eggs.

Cam lifted a finger for the waitress and asked for a refill on both coffees. "I went through the FBI academy, and they had a guest lecturer who spoke on questioning witnesses and how to talk to people we suspect are lying. It was interesting."

"Sounds like it." John leaned back and rested his hand on his flat stomach. "Well, I should probably go. Thanks for breakfast and the talk."

Cam lifted his coffee cup and saluted John. "Safe travels."

John stood and reached for his backpack, placing the envelope back in the main compartment and zipping it shut carefully. "Thanks, you heading to your gate?"

"I will be after I make a call." He glanced at his watch again. "I've got about two more cups of coffee to wait. If you need anything, man, throw me a text or an email." He handed John a card he'd had printed up to give to people while he was searching for a job. “You're welcome to wait with me."

John gave him a crooked smile. "Thanks, but two cups are my limit, and that call should be made without distractions." John shoved the card into his pocket and strolled out of the restaurant.

Cam nursed his next two cups of coffee and waited until office hours before he called the number Blessing had given him.

He pulled out his phone and entered the number from the slip of paper that touted the USO's logo on the top. God, he was nervous.

"Sands."

The man's bark over the phone shocked him a bit. "Sir, my name is Cameron Freeland. A mutual friend, Blessing Collier, gave me your number about a position with the DA's investigative team."

He heard a loud metallic squeak, probably a chair groaning, and a deep sigh. "Yeah, yeah, I'm sorry. My secretary is out today, and the phones are going crazy, or were. Hold on a second while I get that information for you. It was right… Yeah, here we go. Okay, I can send you the links to the application, but you'll have to get on it like yesterday."

"I have all my information on my laptop. I can process it immediately." Cam reached down and pulled his laptop out.

"Do you have the qualifications for this position? Blessing said you did, but getting it from the horse’s mouth, you know…"

Cam chuckled and ran down his extensive educational background. "I attended Criminal Investigator Training followed by eight weeks of training in our Office of Special Investigations specific concerns. Then I went on to advanced training in surveillance and surveillance detection and was provided the opportunity to attend the FBI Academy among other classes I provide in my resume."

There was a moment's pause. "And you want to work for the DA's office as an investigator?"

"As a matter of fact, I do. It's my dream job. I loved fieldwork, but as a new acquaintance reminded me, I promoted myself out of the job." Cam took a sip of coffee; he was nervous, and his mouth was a bit dry.

"Well, it's your life. What's your email address?"

Cam recited it.

He could hear Sands typing before he said, "I just sent you the internal link to apply. It doesn't close out until tomorrow night. I'll let our Deputy District Attorney know I've given you an internal link and why. Good luck, and if you get hired, the name's Cliff Sands. I like bourbon."

Cam laughed. "You got it."

They hung up, and he immediately opened his laptop and hot spotted from his phone to his computer, securely connecting his computer to his phone's Wi-Fi. He glanced at his watch and started typing. He had an hour to make this application sing. Who would have thought a chance meeting with a woman named Blessing would have given him a shot at a job he thought had slipped through his fingers?