Free Army of Two by Ingrid Weaver

motorboat. Every canoe had at least one jagged hole in its hull. The canvas skins were shredded, the cedar strip ribs exposed like broken kindling. It looked as if someone had methodically taken an ax to each of them.
    A sob came out of nowhere, ripping past her throat. She fought to keep the rest inside. She wasn’t conscious of crossing the floor, yet somehow she stood in front of a ruined hull. Her fingers trembled as she traced the edges of a hole. Each craft had been lovingly fashioned by hand in the classic, voluptuous shape that was as much a pleasure to look at as to ride in. In total, they were almost as valuable as the seventy-year-old launch had been.
    The financial loss would be significant. Though the resort was profitable, she didn’t carry enough insurance to cover all of this. It would take years to replace what had likely taken only minutes to ruin. But it wasn’t her balance sheet that made her feel like crying. It was the wanton destruction of something so beautiful.
    The people they were up against had no qualms about killing. The events of this morning had proven that. The violence that had been done here had been cold-blooded and calculated. If the boathouse looked like this, what was happening at the Aerie?
    Mitch cupped her elbow to turn her away from the canoes. “It’ll be all right, Chantal.”
    There was so much confidence in his voice, she wanted to believe him. How she wished he really was the hero of her teenage fantasies.
    He moved his thumb over her elbow. Even through her jacket she could feel the caress.
    But neither of them was going to acknowledge it for what it was. She stepped back.
    He dropped his hand.
    She’d lost track of the number of times they’d acted out that same pattern today.
    Suddenly, she found it frustrating. They had plenty of more important things to worry about than their personal history. She hated the way her thoughts kept returning to him, as if he were still the center of her world. She tapped the flashlight against her arm. “It’s not all right. We can’t swim all the way to Waterfalls.”
    “We’ve had another setback.” He eased the flashlight from her grip and covered the head with his hand, dimming the light to a weak glow. “That just means we need to come up with another plan.”
    “A setback? You called my truck blowing up a setback, too. And I’d thought I’d had a problem with reality.”
    “You have every reason to be upset,” he began.
    “And of course, you don’t get tired or hungry or scared because you’re a tough-as-nails Delta Force commando. It’s not allowed.”
    “Chantal…”
    “You’re like any other army man. You don’t have feelings unless they’re assigned as part of your duties.”
    He stiffened. “There’s no room for sentiment on a mission. That’s how people get killed.”
    Her outburst made her feel petty. Again. Yet another pattern to frustrate her. She hugged her arms. “You were right. I’m upset, but I shouldn’t take it out on you.”
    “Don’t stop speaking your mind. I prefer your honesty to your über-polite mode.”
    “My what?”
    “You know what I mean.”
    “Well, I don’t have the energy left to be polite now. I don’t know whether my friends are alive or dead. My home has been violated. My business is being destroyed before my eyes. We’ve wasted a day coming back here. I could have been halfway to the other end of the lake by now if you hadn’t stopped me.”
    “Maybe. Or you could have had a dizzy spell, fallen down a cliff and broken your neck.”
    “My headache wasn’t that bad.”
    “Yes, as it turned out your concussion appeared to be mild, but Knox has been thorough so far. We should consider the possibility that he might have gotten to your neighbors, too.”
    “I don’t follow you.”
    “They’re as isolated as you are, and just as vulnerable. We don’t have any guarantee that we’d find help there.”
    “Are you saying there’s nothing we can