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“I’m good now. You were right. I was running on fumes before. I needed to recharge.” Rolling to her back, she pushed a hank of hair off her forehead. “Have you heard anything about the teenager? Or the other hostages?”
Even as they settled into a no-sex agreement, God, how easy it was to lay in a bed together and talk with the familiarity of lovers. How easy it would be to tug the tie on her robe and make them both forget the hellish past four weeks apart.
His hands clenched. “No earth-shattering news. Just a text from Bubbles a couple of hours ago.” He scooped his cell phone off the bedside table and double-checked. No new messages. He tossed it on the bed between them where it bounced once before settling. “The other hostages have been medically evaluated. Everyone was processed separately, so they think you’re simply in another room. Sutton and the others should be flying out and heading home within a few hours.”
“Which technically, I am.” She pushed against the mattress, sitting up.
And driving him crazy with the way her knee peeked between the part in her robe.
She hugged her knees. “And the boy? The code?”
“I’m sure Mr. Smith will contact you once he has something.”
“Waiting is tough.”
He knew that was an understatement for her. He’d seen just how hard it had been for her to walk away from decoding whatever message lurked in that cloth. Stella might not be the most overt with her emotions, but she took her job seriously and her methodical mind had an almost obsessive need to untangle puzzles. He had the feeling she’d probably been trying to break the code from memory even while she’d slept.
“Most high-risk jobs are ninety-nine percent waiting and one percent high-octane insanity.” He should roll out of bed, get dressed, and get the hell out of here. He should. But he stayed right where he was because being tempted with her was less painful than being without her. “You said you came here searching for answers about your mother, that you had unanswered questions about how she died. What do you think happened?”
He genuinely wanted to know, and the conversation seemed to be a safe passion douser. Besides, he understood that she needed a distraction before the mystery code drove her crazy. Knowing she hadn’t told him her suspicions about her mother’s death before now also made him question how close they’d really been before.
“I’m not sure exactly. I was fifteen when she died. The casket was closed.” She pinched the bridge of her nose, the only sign of emotion as she recited the facts coolly. “They said she sustained head injuries. Supposedly, she was alone driving in the rain and that she spun out into a tree. A branch… killed her.”
He didn’t care how calm her voice sounded. No one could be unaffected by that. He took her hand in his, linking fingers. “Not seeing her body had to have made things more difficult.”
“I only said the casket was closed. The funeral director still let us see her after he’d made her more… presentable. Her face was so puffy and distorted…” She swallowed hard. “They had to put a wig on her.”
“Perhaps seeing her wasn’t the best idea for a teenager after all.” He stroked his thumb back and forth along the speeding pulse in her wrist.
“I had nightmares for a long time.” She cut her eyes toward him. “I still do on occasion. Ones where that puffy face with a wig morphs back into the face I remember. She whispers to me to help her…”
“God, Stella…” To hell with distance. He wrapped his arms around her shoulders and hauled her against his chest.
“Here’s the thing.” She gripped his T-shirt and he knew she held onto her self-control even tighter. “We were also given photos of the accident site and the crumpled vehicle being towed away.”
“Something’s bothering you.” He loved her analytical mind as much as he loved the rest of her. And obviously things hadn’t added up for her regarding how her mom had died.
“I could see the tire tracks leading up to the tree, right to the long, broken off branch. Except no matter how many times I looked at it, I came to the same conclusion.” A shuddering breath shook her shoulders. “The limb had to have gone through the passenger side. My mother wasn’t alone in that car and she wasn’t driving. Why did they lie? Who hurt her? Was that car accident even the cause of her death?”
She’d been solving mysteries even as a teenager. “What did your father have to say?”
“He insisted I was in denial from grief. He offered to get me everything from a new puppy to therapy. I just wanted my mom.” She touched his jaw. “But I guess you understand that. You know you tugged my heart that day monkey watching at the National Park. All those images of you as a kid hanging out at the zoo studying families… You still tug on my emotions, Jose.”
The talk of families rather than just mothers steered toward dangerous territory for them. “Stella…”
Sitting up, she put her fingers over his mouth. “I know. It’s not wise for us to discuss this, especially in a bed, but nothing about us has been smart or planned. I certainly didn’t bargain on finding someone like you when I came to Africa. I’d expected to find my Mr. Right once I put the past to rest.”
“Sorry to wreck your plans.” He kissed her fingers. “I mean that. But I am who I am.”
Damn it, if he could figure out a way around their different views for the future, he would. But they’d talked and talked this to death with no progress.
“For a man who’s so confident in the work world, I just don’t understand how you can’t see your strengths in your personal realm. I believe in you.”
Anger nipped at the edges of his already dissolving resolve. “Dumping me was a funny way of showing your faith in me.”
“I have so much faith in you I refuse to settle for anything but your one hundred percent.” She swung her legs off the edge of the bed. “I need to get dressed and go.”
And here they were again, at a f**king impasse. He reined in his anger with a gritty control that had carried him through marathons and missions. “Then I guess that’s my cue to get to work.”
