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‘You know, you would be a little better off without those clothes.’ She yanked at his shirt and actually succeeding in getting it off of him, then ran full tilt across the field. Gabriel gave in and chased after her. ‘Hey, come back with my shirt! It’s my favorite!’ He easily caught her and they both fell on ground, the girl pinned under him. He looked down at her. ‘Look at what you’ve done. You’ve gotten my favorite shirt dirty. What am I to do with you?’ His voice was soft and warm. He kissed her gently. She looked shocked for a moment. Gabriel paused, afraid he had read her wrong. He thought she was playing. ‘Hopefully nothing too terrible, you know? I have to be somewhere tomorrow.’ She ran her fingers through Gabriel’s wet hair and tentatively kissed him back. He returned her soft kiss and relaxed. She at least wasn’t going to call rape. ‘I’m sure we can come up with something suitable. And I promise that you’ll get wherever you need to go tomorrow just as soon as we eat. Where was the bloody hammer? Where were those damn nails? He was going to nail her! He would nail her breasts to the Oak!Impervious indeed! What folly! He could feel the anguish and the terror with which she was fighting him. He could sense her weakness! The intensity of the charade was sapping her energy and blocking all thinking.It was opaque. All of it. None of it was true. She lived in a three bedroom suburban house with a husband called Charles and a blonde headed daughter with dimples. Cecily wasn't a spy! She'd never been to a war zone. She was a psychologist like it said on the door. She was a fake and a plant and it was a test: an interview. Everything about her was an invention.That's what he told himself as he pushed her against the tree and scooped up the hammer, and immediately he saw the terror in her eyes and knew he was right. There was the proof!"Oh my God!"He scooped two nails from the box, discarding the rest. This was it. Finally, after all the talking and the.
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