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She closed her eyes. Concentrated on her breathing.God knows where we are, right?
She didn’t know how, but Ned had tiptoed into her brain. And suddenly she was back in Montana, under a starry sky, huddled with him against the cold, hurting from her car crash, but safe, oh so safe, with Ned, who’d rescued her.
Again.
Her chest hurt at the memory of their conversation.You don’t get it, Ned. I cause trouble, even if I don’t mean to.
That had never felt truer than right now. Oh, her stubbornness. Why did she always have to do things her way?
We are not alone, Shae.
Not then, but now she couldn’t be more alone, really.
Don’t…
Aw, it didn’t matter. Because there was no one here to see her sobs.
So Shae rolled over, put her hands over her face, and let herself cry.
* * *
How she hopedshe’d made the right call—that all-American wide receiver Hudson Bly wasn’t a traitor to his country. And maybe so, because when Iris had seen Hudson Bly standing under the bell tower arch of the Charles Bridge, something had just felt…off.
Maybe it was the way he’d run out and taken out the person who’d stabbed his contact—that was at least how the math she’d done had identified the man who’d crumpled on the bridge.
Fact was that she’d had to stand in the distance, using her camera, really, to zoom in and record the event.
Only when the victim’s hood had come down had she realized—no, it couldn’t be.
And then, her gut had kicked in.
This didn’t feel right. None of it, from the too-easy setup with Alfonzo to the fact that Hudson, all-American Montana football player, had turned traitor. Nope. No way.
Although, he had gone overseas to play football, so she’d given it a moment’s pause.
And then she’d spotted Tate.
Tate Marshall, the cousin she’d always had a little crush on the few times their families had gotten together. Tate Marshall, who’d gone into the military and then become the bodyguard and finally husband of Gloria Jackson, the ex-VP-elect’s daughter.
She’d read all about the terrible betrayal of “Glo’s” mother against her nation in a recent issue ofPeople. The woman sat in a federal prison, her sentence commuted by President White from execution to life in prison.
But Glo was pregnant, and Tate and she made such a cute couple that Iris was rooting for them.
So what was he doing on a bridge on a rainy night in Prague? With Hudson Bly?
The question had made her follow them both back to the Lindner Hotel, where she was also staying, thanks to an ELF contract.
She’d watched Hudson help Tate to his room, debated about thirty seconds, and decided to make the call.
Banged on Hudson’s door.
And now stood at the foot of Hudson’s bed, staring at her handsome cousin as he bled all over Hudson’s fluffy towels.
“He needs a hospital,” she said on the tail of her question to Hudson.
Especially since she didn’t need an answer, really. Somehow, Hudson had gotten caught up in a clandestine kerfuffle. And at first, she thought maybe he’d been tricked, but now…
She pressed her hand to her stomach. Tate wouldn’t be into anything treasonous, right?
