For some reason these nitwits weren't able to correctly formulate his chemical toxin to detonate at the right temperature. Now there he was, more than six feet underground combining it himself. Richard thought they'd be packaging this morning, but no. There was no way that could happen if the chemical substance would explode during transportation or when being handled. One sample package had detonated a few nights ago. These so-called chemists had said it had rocked the whole area. Well, it was a good thing for them he was in no disposition to rock them the same way.

Besides, there were other things on his mind—that new blonde chic for example. There was something about her—that he didn't like. Aunt Martha didn't say anything negative about her, and neither did Thomas. But then, the only thing Aunt cared about was a good worker. And Thomas was a good boy underneath the bad guy cover. He was the reverse of that. That's why he didn't like that Kristal girl. She was one of those people with high moral standards—or at least that was what Thomas had said—maybe to keep him away from her. He knew people like her believed what he was planning to do was wrong, but did he care? With this one attack, he'd turn richer than he already was, and best of all, no one would be able to pin a thing on him.

Oh, if she knew what he was up to, she'd beg him not to commit such evil and say something like "How dare you enrich yourself at the cost of other people's lives!" But that didn't matter to him. People died every day, and that was everybody's destiny anyway.

But somehow, Richard Greenwood never quite absorbed the fact that he was just as mortal as everyone else.

...............................................

There Chris sat on the couch in the apartment Stevens shared, head in her hands as MI5 agents hovered around her, just as panicky as her. William, the guy he'd brought her here, was almost incredulous when she told him Greenwood was in town. "Why didn't you communicate with CIA or something?"

Her nerves snapped at his harsh tone. "My room is undoubtedly bugged!" she said, shooting up from the couch. "And besides, I thought both CIA and you guys were up to tabs with his whereabouts!"

He laughed sardonically, running his fingers through his short hair. "First, Greenwood vanishes like a ghost. Then, wham!" He punched his fist into his palm for emphasis. "Here he appears, shaking us to the core."

"That's not the worst," she mumbled. She reached up to place her hands on his shoulders, hopefully to keep him from rocketing through the ceiling. He waited expectantly, his hazel eyes unblinking. Then she thought the better of it. Did he need to know Greenwood was up to something today? Right now, to be more precise? Her hands dropped to her sides. "Never mind."

William arched a brow in warning. "Now listen here, miss. You don't go around clamping up at times like this."

She matched his demeanor. "Now listen here, sir. You're about only ten years my senior and you're lecturing me like I'm your daughter."

He huffed, turning his gaze at the retro portrait on the wall. "No wonder Stevens never said anything sparkly about you."

His name brought the shadow back over her. As soon as they'd safely reached here, Stevens had locked himself in his room. Breaking the door down had been an option, but it was soon cancelled. There was no telling if he'd react with violence or not. The former had been most likely. Maybe she should give it a try. After all, this kind of action was unexpected of him. Why it manifested in violence, was a mystery to her. There was something on his heart, she believed, that had been triggered by this day. The unbidden memory of his hands squeezing the life out of her flashed through her mind. There was no telling if he'd do something worse.

Go, Christina.

The way it was, the Voice was all too familiar to deny. She hadn't heard the Lord's still voice speak so quietly, yet so clearly in quite some time. Yet why was the temptation to dismiss it so strong?

"How is Stevens, by the way?"

Chestnut furrowed his darker brown brows. "How would anyone know?"

With that, her strong will propelled her, snatching the first-aid pouch from his grasp. She took it as a dare for herself. May the Lord forgive her if it was wrong to step out in obedience using a dare. She strode down the short passageway, ignoring the other agents around. If anyone came up with a sensible opposition, she'd give in, she knew it. One thing she now realized; fear was her greatest enemy—her strongest enemy. It was flipping her thinking, battering her faith, destroying the little courage she had—and she was sick of it. Here was an opportunity to kick it low.

"Where are you going?" the man asked, his tone filled with reprimand. She recognized him as the one who'd knocked Stevens out cold.

She stumbled onto his tall frame, and caught herself on his arm. "I'm so sorry," she apologized in embarrassment, seeming to have never heard his previous question. She brushed past him.

She grinning maliciously at her own cunningness as she gazed at what she held in her hand before the door—the skeleton key she'd pick pocketed. She promised herself she'd hand it back to Lanky sooner than later.

She inserted the key, her fingers almost trembling as she turned it. The door swung open with ghastly silence on its hinges. And there he sat on his bed, shoulders hunched over with his elbows on his knees, his head up, his frightfully dark gaze on her. The blood from his scars had dried. Chris internally shuddered.

She tried swallowing the dust in her mouth, but to no avail. God, help me. She forced a smile to appear on her face. "Hey!"

Not once did his eyes flicker or show any emotion.

"It's good to see you're alive and well," she added lamely. She went over to drag a chair from across the room and set it before him. She sat down with more smug than she felt—although she made sure to keep nearly enough inches to equal a foot between them. She kept her eyes on his—the same thing he was doing to her. She searched the beautiful deep blue ocean for anything. A little provocation couldn't hurt, right? "So you've been sitting here, moping like a teen who found out his crush didn't return favorable feelings."

She hid her disappointment triggered by his cold shoulder behind opening the first-aid pouch. She caught sight of a bottle of water by the dresser and made a beeline for it, almost for a short respite from his close proximity. One part of her wanted to leave him alone—like he obviously wanted. But the compassion she had for him wouldn't let her. She claimed her seat once more, twisting the bottle's plastic cap off. She drenched a generous swab of cotton in the water. She tentatively reached out to clean off the dried blood starting from his split lip to his chin.

She was too far. She cautiously went on one knee before him. She barely dared breathe as her finger brushed his skin. Her heart nearly stopped when he winced as she accidentally scratched at some dry blood.

Levi took in her expressions. She'd turned a tinge of pale—even though she continued on. She had on a brave front, she hardly even trembled. But he knew all about hiding feelings—so he could see right through hers. "You fear me." He hadn't intended to growl it out.

Her emerald eyes darted to his for the briefest moment. She did. And it hurt him—more than she'd ever know. He closed his hand around her wrist in the gentlest of ways. With a hitch of her breath, she snapped up to her feet—but she didn't pull away.

He felt the need to say it again, to explain himself. "I'm so sorry, Hopper for—for my blind temper. I swear I didn't know it was you—"

Chris felt tears blurring her vision—and they weren't of grief—but then again maybe it was some of that too. "I forgive you," she interrupted simply, hardly any inflection in what she said—but she meant it. In all truth, she held nothing against him. If only he'd tell her what bothered him! The Lord knew it wasn't to satisfy her infinite curiosity. Oh, she wished to ease his burden if only he'd let her. She went on her knees before him as she continued cleaning his cuts. But she'd never force him. Oh, Lord, help me not to.

Her tears distressed Levi. He remembered the tears Mrs. Rodriguez had shed the day of Chris funeral, Chris' fiancée wrapping her in a tight hug, her own light brown eyes spilling with tears. Levi remembered sitting in the same row in the colossal church since his best friend's family had insisted. He had not shed a single tear. Even then, no one knew he'd been around the moment Christopher had died. He remembered feeling unclean, unworthy to shed a drop. He wasn't any more worthy than those many, many days ago.

So why was his throat constricting, the dam threatening to burst? He shut his eyes, forbidding it. Then it all flashed before his closed eyelids—what happened two years ago today. Chris coughing fits behind him in the tunnel as he crawled on ahead. The explosion. Chris bomb-ripped, lifeless body. Him running away. Chris alone.

Dead and alone.

His eyes snapped open, everything blurred—but he couldn't care less.

"I'm so sorry! I had no idea I was causing you pain."

Levi tenderly removed the woman's gentle hand from his brow, and rose to his full height. Why should anyone care about any measure of pain he felt? In that moment, all the faces of the men he'd ever killed flashed before him. His hands were covered with blood! Why was he alive? The explosion that had killed Chris should've killed him too! Why hadn't it? He had deserved it!

His eyes dropped down to meet Hopper's. Would her eyes still hold all that tenderness if she fully knew what kind of man he was? Would her cool hand that mysteriously sent warm shocks up his arm still stay there?

No.

"You shouldn't be near me, Hopper," he confessed, suddenly fully aware of using her last name.

Her hand slid into his own limp one. "Why would you say that?"

Why were those words able to rip him further? It all flashed before him once more. All that was why he'd say that. He sank to his knees, his heart squeezing in his chest, near a whisper as he confessed—for the first time out loud—of his silent burden. "He wouldn't have done it if it weren't for me!" He swallowed convulsively, his forehead against the carpet. "If it weren't for me, he'd still be living!" He slammed his free fist against the floor, waves of grief washing over him, threatening to drown him. In that moment, his surroundings vanished. "Chris, I'm sorry," he poured out to the deceased, although fully alive in his memory. "I'm so sorry!" He gave in to his grief, broken sobs racking his whole body.

..........................................

Compassion, like a knife, sliced her heart, making it bleed. Here the unbendable man was, broken. Here his empty eyes were, pouring tears that dripped onto the carpet. In aggravation, he dug his fingers into his hair, openly sobbing.

Oh, Father in Heaven, I don't know what to do! Chris lower lip trembled, feeling a glimpse of his pain. Without full contemplation, she wrapped her arm around his hunched shoulders.

She felt him tense, his shoulders rising and falling rhythmically if every breath he took. "Don't touch me," he pled, "Please don't touch me."

She felt the sting of rejection. Why wouldn't he quit pushing her away? "Stevens I want to help you!" She swallowed her rising sob. She cared about him! Lord knew she did!

His face left the floor, his eyes locking on hers, something near anger burning behind his blue orbs. "Can you help someone who's gotten his best friend killed? Ha?" His fingers lingered over something on his shoulder, his eyes filling and distant. "Forsaken by his Jesus," he spat, and then cooled, "and forsaken by me."

Against his bidding, she placed her hand over his whitening knuckles. Her heart lightened as she felt his fist loosen. "Your friend wasn't forsaken, Stevens."

His eyes smarted. "I stared into his vacant eyes," he said in a low voice with a matching tone. "I placed my hand over his amputation. I was right there when two shots from the sniper helicopter punctured his dead body. And what did I do?" His face crumbled. "I ran, wanting to forget who he was, his life—how he'd saved my life more than once."

"He sounds like a nice guy."

His brows furrowed. "Chris was more than that."

"How'd he save your life?" she asked before she'd thought better of it.

He looked away from her. "I was a stupid teen getting into trouble with every turn. Nearly got killed by a guy I'd insulted. The bullet grazed Chris arm as he tackled me to the ground, out of the way." He snorted. "Then years later, I come up with the idea of joining the military. He agreed to come with me."

She understood his guilt—sort of. But how could she make him understand it wasn't his fault? His friend Chris was always in the hands of God—from the time he breathed his last to that very moment. Her heart rejoiced within her. There was grief—but there was hope too. If only Stevens knew that . . .

"Chris was never abandoned, Stevens." She wanted him to understand! "God was with him all along. Even now!"

He laughed harshly—almost hysterically. "Then He really must hate me. First, my mom and then him."

Chris shook her head vigorously, fire in the green. "He doesn't hate—"

He placed the tips of his fingers against her lips, stopping the flow of her words. His eyes returned to their "natural" steel-dead blue gaze. "Until He stops taking everyone I care about for Himself, I'll try to believe that."

Chris defensive nature crept up. "What if He takes you up on your dare?"

His jaw worked as he rose to his feet. "We've got a job to do."

Somehow she felt defeated. She'd been so sure he was beginning to open up to her. She had wanted to offer comfort, but he wasn't taking it. Instead he'd felt a lingering sensation on her lips and the reminder of the world outside.

She still had to find out what Greenwood was up to—unless it was too late.

Stevens offered her his hand to help her to her feet. She felt it to heartless to decline. His gaze disturbing, she walked out the doorway without another glance. She met William in the end of the short hallway. He gave a grin of approval. "I see you got him out," he said nodding to the one behind her.

She ignored the remark and cut to the chase, telling him vaguely about her suspicions of Greenwood's activity going on probably at that very moment.

William patted the top of her head, a flipping grin on his face. "Go search it out, little girl." His eyes rose to Stevens. "And help her get there ASAP."

Author's note:

I know, guys! It's the worst I've ever written, so I'll humbly take any stone you may throw. But hey, I've been feeling really rusty, it's like I can almost hear my brain squeaking . . .(kidding) But ya'll get the point. Be honest, and even give suggestions! But if you enjoy being a ghost, that's okay too.