Page 458 of Scars of Fate

A target.

A way out.

But this wasn’t an operation.

It was us.

“I know what I want,” he said.

“What?”

“You.”

My heart turned over.

“Not the woman I thought I had to protect. Not the wife waiting at home while I disappeared into missions I couldn’t explain.”

He took my hand.

“You. The journalist. The woman who walks into danger because someone has to tell the truth. The woman who argues with commanders, crawls through burning buildings, and sends evidence to twelve people because she assumes eleven of them might be compromised.”

“Only eight.”

“What?”

“I believed eight might be compromised.”

“That’s comforting.”

I smiled through the tears.

“What are you asking me?”

“Come home with me.”

“For how long?”

“As long as you want.”

“And my work?”

“I won’t ask you to stop.”

Surprise must have shown on my face.

“I hate it,” he admitted.

“I know.”

“I hate the danger.”

“I know.”

“I hate that you believe a press credential makes you bulletproof.”

“I don’t believe that.”

“You walked into an aid convoy near the Iranian border.”