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“We’ll be there in twenty minutes,” I said.
I’d waited to make the call until we were on the edge of the city.
“I can’t wait,” Justine replied, her voice alive with excitement.
I hung up and looked across at West, who had coped admirably with his shoulder injury.
“I hope you’ll take my offer seriously,” I said. “If and when you leave the Corps.”
“Are you trying to poach a Marine in front of the Secretary of Defense?” Carver asked jokingly.
“I wouldn’t say poach. I’m just giving him options.”
Carver smiled.
“Thank you,” West replied. “I appreciate it.”
We made it through the gleaming city in record time and reached the hotel in fifteen minutes, where we found Sci, Mo-bot, and Justine with plates of sandwiches.
Justine’s had hardly been touched. She got up, hurried across the room and threw her arms around me the moment we walked in. Carver’s arrival set the busy bar abuzz, but he didn’t pay it any mind and sat down with West, Mo-bot, and Sci while Justine and I kissed.
“I’ve missed you so much,” she said.
“Me too,” I replied.
“I was so worried.”
“It was touch and go at times,” I acknowledged.
“Don’t tell me that,” she said, and took my hand. “Come on. You must be starving.”
I nodded. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d eaten.
I pulled up a seat between Justine and Carver. He was getting prompt attention from the server, a starstruck woman in her early twenties. She kept smiling uncontrollably, much like Justine and me.
“A beer for me, please,” Carver said. He turned to me and asked, “Beer?”
“Yeah. I’ll have a beer,” I replied. “Thanks, Eli.”
CHAPTER 107
A WEEK LATER, Justine and I were standing in the garden of Jessie Fleming’s parents’ home with some of the Private New York team. Sam and Ellen Fleming looked small and fragile, diminished by the trauma of the past couple of weeks and the near loss of their daughter. There were some members of her extended family there too, and school and college friends. We were all waiting to welcome her home. She had come out of her coma the day after I’d returned to New York but was only being discharged today.
Justine and I stood apart from the main group and sipped cold lemonade on the warm August afternoon, enjoying the sounds and smells of rural upstate New York. The Flemings clearly spent a great deal of time on their garden, and everything from the magnificent pine trees to the tiny delicate wildflowers looked well cared for.
Justine glanced at me and smiled. We hadn’t been able to getenough of each other since my return from Moscow. I’d visited Jessie every day, grateful to see her strength returning, and Justine had insisted on coming with me. When she had needed to attend to paperwork, I’d sit in the same room and catch up on my own admin. We were happiest being around each other.
I smiled back at her, expressing the warmth and contentment I felt. Maybe one day she would get me to make that promise to stay by her side and let others rush into danger. The draw of being with her was strong enough.
My phone rang and alerted me to a Beijing number I didn’t recognize. My heart skipped a beat. I half expected bad news when I answered.
“Hello?” I said tentatively.
“Jack, it’s Shang Li,” my business partner said, much to my relief.
Across the garden, I saw a community ambulance pull up beyond the gate. The driver jumped out and ran to the back.
“And Zhang Daiyu,” she said. “You’re on speaker.”
