Page 18 of Duty Preserved

“The security guys? The trainers?” She looked at them again, and I could see her recalculating everything the same way I had, except Alyson was doing it loudly and with her entire face.

I caught something else. Andrew was looking at Donovan. His easy smile was gone. In its place was stunned comprehension, a series of facts he’d been holding separately snapping together all at once.

He’d known about Paris. Or known something about Paris. But he hadn’t known that the woman from Paris was standing in this dining tent.

The look he gave Donovan said everything: This is her?

Donovan didn’t look back at him.

Which meant they were absolutely going to talk about this later, and the thought made me want to walk directly into the savanna and never return.

“Let me get that towel,” I said to no one in particular and escaped to the serving area.

A short time later, after handing Donovan something to wipe off his shirt, I sat down at a table with Alyson and a new plate of food I didn’t remember serving myself. The Citadel team was at a table across the tent, close enough to hear if either side raised their voices. The canvas roof rippled above us in a breeze that did nothing for the heat underneath.

Alyson leaned toward me immediately. “Talk. Now. What is happening?”

“Not here.”

“Sarah—”

“Not. Here.” I picked up my fork. “The tent is open on three sides. I don’t want to have this conversation in front of the entire camp. Okay?”

Alyson looked at the open sides, looked at the Citadel table, and sat back.

From across the tent, I heard Andrew’s voice, low but not low enough. “So the woman from the hotel, the one with the⁠—”

Donovan cut him off. I couldn’t hear the words, but the tone was unmistakable. A wall dropping into place.

Andrew said something else. Then he laughed, one sharp exhale, and I heard him say, clear as a bell, “You cannot make this up.”

I put food in my mouth. Chewed. Swallowed. Put more in.

This was the rule in the field—eat when food is available. The day started before sunrise and ran until the last animal was checked and the last log was written, and if you skipped a meal because you were having an emotional crisis, you didn’t eat. The crisis would still be there in the morning. The food wouldn’t.

Alyson watched me shovel stew and rice with a simmering impatience that made her leg bounce under the table. She picked at her own plate, moved food around, leaned forward twice, and thought better of it both times.

“After dinner,” I said without looking up.

“Your cabin?”

“Fine.”

“I’m coming, whether you invite me or not.”

“I know.”

Daniel showed up at some point and sat down next to Alyson with his own plate. Then he said something about the impala that I didn’t process. Alyson answered him without taking her eyes off me. He glanced between us, read something in the silence, and had the good sense not to ask.

I finished my plate. The stew was good. It was always good. The women who cooked for the camp put more care into these meals than anyone in this compound probably deserved, and I’d learned a long time ago to appreciate every bite.

I stood up, rinsed my plate at the wash station, and walked out of the tent without looking at the Citadel table.

Alyson caught up before I’d made it ten steps.

“You said after dinner. It’s after dinner.”

“I said my cabin. We’re not there yet.”