Tell Me When It Hurts by Christine Whitehead Read Free Book Online

my favorite intern stabbed to death while I’m in Beijing,” he finished with a wink. He closed the clasp on the case, grabbed his coat, and moved briskly out the door, looking anything but the picture of an “old man in his dotage.” The “my favorite intern” thing had become a tired joke, but Archer supposed he thought it was cute.
    “ See Cassie. She’ll set you up. Little school we run up in New York State. Go up for a month or whatever. I’ll be back in a week or two. Have fun,” Bennett said, sprinting for the elevator.
    When Archer stopped by Cassie’s office, Cassie seemed fully apprised of the situation.
    “ Oh, yes,” she said. “Peter mentioned that. Your ticket to Syracuse will be here this afternoon. Just drop by any time after three, Archer.”
    “ What is this place, Cassie?” Archer asked.
    “ I only know we do some training up there. Routine self-protection stuff, I think. You’ll have fun, I’m sure, if Peter’s sending you,” said Cassie, as if Peter would never dream of sending an intern anywhere that was not a guaranteed fun-fest.
    * * *
    Archer left for Syracuse the next day, where she found herself the only woman among a dozen men, all from either West Point or Annapolis and all about six or seven years older than she. The “self-defense” curriculum was narrow: basic weaponry, scoping tactics, ammunition alternatives, and stalking the target. That was it. The minimum stay was six months, though a year was preferred. Six months! Archer thought with alarm. This can’t be right.
    She had expected basic karate moves for fending off the average mugger, evasive driving maneuvers for outwitting the random carjacker, and strategies for responding to a potential rapist. What she got was a program light years beyond that. The contrast between her expectations and the real thing was actually laughable. This program, if completed, would fully prepare her to launch a revolution in a modest-sized developing country and defend herself against anything short of a nuclear attack. Archer’s fellow students looked capable of it already. Though they were obviously curious, Archer sensed no animosity or testosterone-fueled hostility. They were generous with their help and seemed perfectly comfortable with the idea that someone, somewhere, felt she needed to be there. That was enough for them.
    At the end of the second week, Archer had had enough. She drove down to Washington on a Sunday night to confront Peter Bennett on Monday morning. The Volvo chugged steadily south, with Archer sipping coffee to stay alert on the night drive. She stopped only for gas and coffee refills. Once in Washington, she sat in her car outside the Justice Department, waiting for the doors to open at 8:30.
    When they did, she ran a comb through her hair, walked inside, and headed straight to Bennett’s office on the second floor.
    Cassie looked up, surprised to see her. “Oh, Archer, how are you? Back already? Peter will be in this morning, but he’s booked pretty tight. Do you need to see him?” she asked. When Archer nodded, she replied, “Then have a seat. He should be in soon, but don’t count on more than a few minutes with him.”
    Archer sat outside Bennett’s office until he arrived at 9:10.
    “ What the hell is going on?” she asked, hopping up from her metal seat in the waiting area and walking alongside him into his office.
    “ Well, good morning to you, too,” Bennett said as she stepped along with him. He slipped off his light overcoat and hung it on a hook on the door, closing the door behind him. “Have a seat, Archer. I thought you were up in Syracuse. Now, what seems to be the problem?”
    Bennett sat heavily on his green leather desk chair and hit the intercom, holding up a finger to delay Archer’s response.
    “ Cassie, a coffee, please, pronto.” Pause. “Right, thanks.”
    He looked up at Archer. “Okay, shoot. What’s the problem?”
    “ The problem is Syracuse. I’m in training