Chapter Six

Jackson

The reports on the newly replaced desk in front of Captain Wolfe blurred yet again. Jackson was glad that the new desk was of stainless steel this time; his chances of breaking it accidentally were much lower. He had managed to reorganize most of the files from the night before, but now that he was trying to read them and concentrate, he felt his mind drifting. All he could think of was the dreams of her. For once the nightmares of his transformation in Afghanistan had been held at bay; instead he had dreamed of her. The curl of her hair against her neck. The perfect smattering of freckles across her cheeks. Her scent floated around in his memory like a welcome ghost, making him smile unconsciously as he remembered it.

His whole life, Jackson had an enriched sense of smell. As a teenager, he had been surprised to learn that not everyone could smell the things he did. It was something that he utilized in his interrogations. He could smell fear. The trickle of bitter sweat that