“I didn’t mean like sister and brother or anything like that,” Sunny said. “But we trusted each other.”
“Until we didn’t,” Julian reminded her.
“Even still, we managed to work past all of that. At the end of the day, there was no doubt that we had each others’ backs,” Sunny said.
Julian didn’t want to relive that moment, but it was hard not to when he was sitting across from Sunny. The Navy had sent her, the best special ops pilot, to fly through enemy fire and pluck him and Broman from the field near their camp in Central Sulawesi. The rescue had been dangerous, with El Mago’s gang hot on his heels blasting gunfire at him and the helo. But Sunny had gotten the job done, like they all knew she would.
“It was hard for me seeing both of you like that. Broman was bleeding out. You passed out before we could get you in the helo. I thought you were dead the whole time I was flying. The only thing I kept thinking was get back to base. Over and over. Get back to base. Dodging bullets, rising and dropping, doing shit I never should have been doing in a helicopter to get y’all out of there, even though in my heart I thought it wouldn’t matter what I was doing,” Sunny said.
“But it did matter.”
“Broman survived and so did you,” Sunny said, biting her lower lip. She looked away and he could feel himself back in that hospital, waking up to find her head laying on his chest, gripping his hand as she slept. For two days, she’d stayed by his bedside, trading shifts with his mother and leaving only to grab a bite to eat or to use the restroom. He had no doubt that knowing they were with him, praying and willing him to live was one of the reasons he’d pulled through.
“Dawn had Broman moved to a coma research hospital in the Aerie Islands. Some hotshot doctor is going to take over his case,” Julian said, rubbing a hand down his face.
“Is the new doctor more … optimistic than the doctors in Florida?” Sunny asked, studying her nails.
“Dawn thinks so. She says the chance of him waking up is less than five percent, but after hearing that he’d never wake up for so long, it’s good to have hope,” Julian said. Broman had improved to a minimally conscious state. On rare occasions, his body would engage in purposeful movements, eyes tracking a target or fingers moving. It was a big leap from the state Broman had been in, but Julian wasn’t getting his hopes up about Broman regaining consciousness.
“Sometimes all we have is hope, right? So, tell me why you want to work for me?” Sunny asked.
Julian raked a hand through his hair. “I need a distraction, something to do while Mena is out pursuing her career at the museum.”
“You’re not working?” Sunny asked, raising an eyebrow. “Is this Mena woman your sugar mama? You a kept man, Montgomery?”
Julian detected a hint of annoyance beneath Sunny’s teasing. Talking to Sunny about his relationship with Mena was not a road he wanted to go down.
“Are you going to help me out or not?” Julian asked, trying to disarm Sunny’s verbal attack with his killer smile.
“Do you want to know what you’re asking for?” Sunny said, growing more serious than Julian had expected.
“Tell me about the work.”
“There’s a fine line between private security and hired special operatives and we walk that tight rope every day. The work my guys do is dangerous … on a good day. There’s the search and rescue of kidnap victims held for ransom, recovery of classified information for businesses, supervised escorting of top secret items, and the occasional run in with terrorist groups for unauthorized trespassing through their territory. I don’t think your girl is going to want you doing this type of job. Can’t you go be an IT rep somewhere?”
“And die of boredom. Come on, Sunny, you know that’s not me. I get the risks. I need to be where the action is,” Julian said, then dropped his legs from the desk and leaned toward her. “I can see it in your eyes. You know you want me on your team. Won’t take me long to make your motley crew look like a JROTC.”
Sunny scoffed. “Not with that flabby stomach. I’d have to whip you back into shape with some intense daily workouts. And don’t think you’d come in here and run the show. I’m the boss and you’ll follow my protocols or get kicked out on your ass. None of that going rogue bullshit you like to do. You’re not always the smartest operative in the room.”
“Does that mean I’m hired?” Julian asked.
“When have I ever been able to resist you?”
Chapter Seven
“Damn it, Omar! Can we have one, just one, conversation where you’re not lecturing me about screwing things up with Julian?” Mena asked, stomping through the deserted lobby of the high-rise condominium. Why had she thought calling her best friend would be a good idea? These days, he was never on her side, playing devil’s advocate and trying to make her see the situation from all points of view when all she wanted was for him to listen and commiserate with her in all her glorious misery.
“If you were acting like a sane woman and not some bizarro version of yourself, then I wouldn’t need to!” Omar screamed back at her.
Another late night. At least she was home before 11 p.m. this time. Mena waved at the three guards at the security station, then pressed her key card against the side panel of the glass partition separating the lobby from the elevators leading to the private residences. A guard with a visible assault rifle stood watch, ensuring that no one piggybacked through the opening. The condo was known for its militant security measures, one of its primary selling points. Kidnappings of wealthy Kenyans and ex-pats was a real threat.
Mena smiled at the guard, who nodded back at her, then proceeded to the elevator. Pressing the square button, she glanced down at the charm bracelet on her wrist. The symbol of Julian’s love for her. A constant and calming presence even when she was still angry with him.
“Why is it so wrong for me to be upset that he missed my lecture?” Mena asked.
“No one is saying that your feelings are wrong. What is wrong is for you to still be pissed about it two days later. Let it go!” Omar implored.
Mena had tried to let go of her anger, but her nerves were shot from the unwanted text messages she’d been receiving over the past two days. No way she was telling Omar about that. He’d blow a gasket. Actually, he’d be on the next flight to Nairobi to take care of the annoying pest himself.
