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‘You’re going? What does Rafe say about it?’
‘Rafe doesn’t know.’ She jutted her chin out defiantly, voicing the one thing he didn’t want to hear.
‘Rae—’
‘No.’ This time, she refused to cow to him. ‘This is something I want to do. I’ve done all the courses, all the tests, all the evaluations. I passed them all. I got my mission a while ago. Myles, I’ve been planning it for months...long before he made you shadow me, and long before this latest death threat.’
‘Yet you must see that’s exactly why you can’t now go,’ Myles pointed out.
She shook her head wildly, her eyes suddenly dancing with the same kind of light as when she saved a baby. Only now, it was even brighter, even more mesmerising.
‘Surely that’s even more of a reason to go? If that break-in wasn’t opportunistic, and if my life is in danger here, they definitely won’t be able to get to me where I’m going. I’ll be safe, Rafe will be happy, and you’ll be free of babysitting me. Everybody wins.’
Only, for a moment, he wasn’t sure it felt like a win for him. And he couldn’t help feeling Rae felt the same. This...thing...still shimmered and rippled between them, however much they pretended to ignore it.
But what was the alternative? That he joined her out there? An invisible band tightened around his chest, making it painful even to draw breath. Images of that village, those bodies, flashed in his brain like flicking through a photo album too quickly to dwell on any single photo, but recognising the images all the same.
His heart picked up its beat, and he fought off the urge to stick a finger between his stiff white collar and his skin. He wasn’t ready to go back to a conflict zone. He still hadn’t processed what had happened that last mission. The people he’d been laughing with only hours before...
Not to mention the decision he’d made to ignore his gut when he’d discovered that Lance Corporal McCoy—Mikey—was part of the squad that final, fatal time.
It was all he could do to keep looking at Rae, to keep dancing, to keep upright. If he could get through tonight, buy himself enough time, experience told him it would be a lot easier to work things through in the light of the morning. Maybe Rafe was right. Maybe he should have talked to someone.
He just had to get through one night.
Just tonight.
Abruptly, he stopped dancing.
‘Where’s Angela now?’ he demanded.
‘Why?’ She was understandably guarded and nervous. ‘Myles...we’ve stopped dancing. People are watching.’
‘Let them watch.’ He didn’t care. ‘And I’m coming with you.’
Sliding his arm around her, he whisked her around, a weave and a turn and they were back into a decent space.
‘That’s insane.’ She was trying to stay light in his arms, following his lead and floating like a feather. He could tell she felt anything but. ‘You can’t come. You don’t have clearance.’
Something deep in his chest thudded with apprehension. Old fears slowly resurrecting themselves, but he stamped them down.
They had no business in the here and now.
‘I was a trauma surgeon in the field six months ago—I have clearance.’
He’d just hoped to never use it again. And yet...
‘You can’t go into the field within twelve months of being in the forces.’ She sounded panicked.
‘Some organisations say that,’ he acknowledged. ‘But not Angela’s. Her criteria are different and I fit it. I know that for a fact.’
‘You need evaluations.’
‘Shall I say it again?’ He had no idea why a part of him actually seemed to be thrilling to the concept whilst another part balked. Loudly. ‘They’re all covered.’
She stared at him, her green eyes wide and shooting sparks.
‘This is nonsense, Myles. You have to have a special training for contagious diseases and tropical medicine.’
