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“Of course you’re not sleeping on the floor,” he says. “I’m going to stay up until the transport gets here, anyway.”

He’s really not even going to touch me. He can barely stand to look at me.

I lie down, facing away from him so he doesn’t have a clue when the tears start rolling down my face.

43

JOSH

She sleeps and I wait. I could probably lie down, but I’m too fucking scared. I know I’d be tempted to do more than lie there, and I’m not willing to let down my guard for even a moment. God only knows who recognized her at the airport or on the way here. At any given moment I expect to see the tent being ripped down the center.

This is all my fault. I didn’t want her to know how bad things were, but…they’re bad. We have informants all over the camp. Already, I’m certain, someone has left to tell the local terrorists we have a visitor. Even if they didn’t recognize her, they’ll know she’s pretty and young and American, that she looks like she has money. And one of those things would be enough. All of them together—I have to stop thinking about it.

I bury my head in my hands and take a deep breath, trying to stay calm.

It’s impossible to quell my anxiety, though. Even if we get through the night, she’s still got to get back to Mogadishu. The road is the most dangerous part, but the airport isn’t all that safe either. I’m gonna be a nervous wreck until she’s safely landed somewhere else.

For the next few hours, I listen to her talk in her sleep—those same numbers. Seven, one-ninety-nine, eighty-eight. I wish she’d tell me what they mean. Usually, I hear them once or maybe twice. Tonight she says them again and again, as if she’s trapped in a nightmare that’s on repeat.

I should never have kept this going. I should never have started it in the first place. Maybe I’ve ruined it anyway, with the way I’ve treated her tonight. That would probably be for the best. Because I can’t seem to let her go, and this proves, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that I should.

44

DREW

Josh wakes me when it’s still dark.

“Drew,” he says, “your ride is here.”

He’s still dressed. I’m groggy, but awake enough to feel another flush of shame. I’ve never seen anyone want me gone as badly as he did when I showed up last night.

I rise from the cot, unable to meet his eye, and grab my backpack.

“I’m ready,” I tell him, with no emotion in my voice. I’m angry but it’s mostly at myself. I should have known better than to come here. I’ve spent my whole life determined not to do something this stupid again, and look what I did at the first chance that presented itself: I leapt at it.

“Here,” he says, handing me his Georgetown hoody.

“It’s hot out,” I argue. And I don’t want your stupid fucking sweatshirt. I want to forget I ever knew you.

“You need to wear it,” he says, “with the hood up. They need to make sure no one recognizes you.”

I do as I’m told. “I’ll mail it back to you,” I reply coolly. We’re right back where we were that first morning in Oahu—Josh reluctantly trying to do the right thing and me telling him, as best I can, to fuck right off.

“Keep it,” he says.

“I don’t want it,” I say, and I’m sure he hears the hurt that leaches out of me with those words. My God, I sound more like Sloane with every second that passes.

“Drew,” he says, pulling me toward him with his hands on my hips. “Look—”

There is a tap outside the tent. “Hey, Bailey?” someone says. Another American. “We gotta go.”

He presses his lips to my forehead. “I’ll call you.”

I glance up at him for one second, which is as long as I can stand. I think the memory of him is going to break my heart every day for the rest of my life. “Bye, Josh,” I say, and I unzip the tent.

He starts to follow me and I shake my head. “Don’t, okay?” My voice quavers and after a moment’s hesitation, he nods, and that’s it.

Two guys in camo wait outside. “This seems like overkill,” I mutter quietly when I see the armored truck waiting for us.