“So ,she is dead?”

The voice startled Jack. He had been sitting at the small table in the corner. Lost in thought he had not noticed the other man taking a seat.Now he looked up and it took him a moment to realise who this bloke was.

“Staff Sergeant Matthews, sorry, I was miles away.”

Ryan Matthews laughed, took a big draught from his pint. “I bet.” Jack took to his pint as well, did not respond.

“Will you report her missing?” “What the fuck are you talking about?” Jack’s voice had gone icy and his American accent was more audible by now. “Your wife. Or rather David’s wife. That’s what she was, always will be.” The big man got up and to the bar, placed an order.

Confused Jack watched him. What was going on? What did he mean? And how could he possibly know? He nodded as Matthews placed a pint and a whisky in front of him. After sitting down the man raised his own whisky.

“To Alex, her most toughness, may she have peace at last.” He looked directly at Jack, in his eyes.

As he was not responding he went on. “I won’t cause you trouble. She would not have wanted that. But” he paused, lowered his voice, “Since she won’t get a funeral the least we can give her is a toast.”

Jack reached for his glass. “Her most toughness?” he asked and raised a brow. “She did not tell me that.”

Matthews laughed. “I bet to tell you all the things she might not have told you would take more than one evening. David used to call her that after they first met. The others soon picked up. Iron Maiden, Ice Queen… and some not so charming ones. Especially after David died and she turned up the next day as usual.”

Jacks eyes opened wider. “David is dead?” She had not told him that either. She…

Ryan nodded. “Three years ago. Two days later Colonel Waters sent her home. Dishonourable discharge two days after the funeral. Vanished four days later without a trace.”

Silence seemed to spread around the two of them like a shield. Ryan thinking of the woman he had known, Jack about the woman he had killed – and the things she had not told him.

It had been some nine month earlier. In Germany a short warm autumn had nearly over night turned into biting cold and frosty nights.

In the second week of this untimely winter Jack had found this homeless girl, woman. Dirty clothes, Army jacket, day pack. A hot breakfast and an intense talk later he had made his offer.

Travel with me, marry me for one year.

Every other woman had jumped at this opportunity. Not her. They had checked into a cheap hotel nearby. She had shown him her body, the tattoos, the scars. In case he wanted to withdraw his offer. But he had not.

He had fucked her there and then. Under the shower, hard without mercy. She had been crying – as she had her orgasm. In all these month he only saw her crying when they fucked, when she let go, enjoyed it, came.

And unlike the others she understood his muttered remark after their first fuck. “Let’s feed you up. I don’t want to break you – now.” “So you are going to kill me?” she had said casually as she was rolling cigarettes for both of them. “Then I have one condition before I accept. I want to go back to Edinburgh, visit… someone a last time.”

They had talked a lot these hours.

Her name was Alex MacDonald, former British soldier, now homeless and stranded in Germany. Partly because of PTSD, partly personal reasons. Her husband – the bastard who left me – a soldier, too, military police. And he was the guy she wanted to see – one last time, return her wedding band.

Jack had no rejections. He himself was drifting. After a successful career with the American military police he had come into some money and quit his job. He had started to travel the world. Indulging in all the things he has missed during his time with the army – marriage, becoming a father – he now travelled the world with next to no baggage and at his own pace.

And, his deepest and strongest motivation, try the other side. Act out crimes he had seen using his knowledge and training to avoid being caught.

Time just flew by. She had been a worthy companion. With other woman he had to buy a car, find a hotel every night. Alex… had been different. After she had regained her strength they had travelled by bus, train and even plane. Their small possessions in backpacks, everyone carrying their share. They had slept at train stations, air ports, on the beach, the occasional cheap hotel.

He grew to love her. That did not include treating her gently. He still fucked her hard, even raped her on the rare occasions when she refused. They had to stay at one hotel for a week till she was able to go on. She had not complained. Never. Sometimes, in the long wakeful nights, listening to her deep breathing he even suspected that she enjoyed being raped by him.

Three days ago they had reached Edinburgh. She had shown him around, places she loved, tourist attractions. They had ended up at the castle. And met staff sergeant Matthews. She had been tense, alert. “My husband used to let him fuck me”, had been her explanation. And he had believed her.

The next day was the day. Her last day. If she had said one word, just one word, he would have spared her. They could travel on, see the world, all of it.

All she had said was “Today?” and as he nodded she smiled her typical faint little smile. “Better face my demon then. See you at noon.”

He prepared a bag. Handcuffs, ropes, a knife and two batons, the ones with a handle. All got wrapped up in towels and his spare clothes that they would not make too much noise.

Jack went out to hire a car, got back to the hotel and waited. Just by chance he was looking out of the window as she approached. Her movements like a sleepwalker. Even with her clean clothes and hair in this moment she reminded him of the homeless he had picked up than the woman who had travelled with him. No wonder she always referred to this David as ‘bastard’. If he could do this to her in – he checked his watch – four hours give or take.

She was back in control of herself when she entered the room. But one look told him that she had been crying. “Ready?” This was her last chance. She nodded and he picked up the bag. “Let’s go.”

He led the way, drove towards her end.

Alex was silent, the faint smile on her lips as she watched the familiar streets go by, the countryside. “Did you let him fuck you?” he asked eventually and she looked at him. “No.” Was it a lie?

“You only cry when you get fucked.” She shrugged. “Not today.” He had the feeling as if she wanted to say more but then she just shook her head, repeated “Not today.”

He left it at this, turned into a small country lane. After another hour they reached the spot he had chosen.

“Take the bag, just a short walk from here.” She followed in silence, bag over her shoulder, long powerful strides.

On a clearing he stopped. “Put that bag down and undress.” He pointed to a fallen tree on the ground and sat down, looked up to her.

She smiled, looked down on him. “How do you want me? Docile and following your instructions? Putting up a fight to,” she chuckled “make it easier for you?” “How do you want to go?” His voice was calm and their eyes locked. She bit her lip.