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“If those outfits don’t work for you, I can get you something else. There’s nightwear there, too.”
She came out of her thoughts. She moved some of the outfits out of the way and found several pretty, comfortable cotton sleep shirts with hearts on one, stars on the second one, and honeybees on the third. There was a short white cotton robe and some slippers. “No, this will be fine,” she murmured. “Do you have any information about Easy…Matt’s condition?” The woman had been on and off the phone during the ride to the Trasker.
“Not since I told you he arrived at Walter Reed and they’re assessing his injuries. I’m afraid it’s going to be a bit before I have a status update on him.”
She had nodded and slipped into the bathroom to shower. As soon as the door closed, she leaned her back against it, suddenly so drained she could barely function. Feeling oddly disconnected, as if her mind were separated from her body, she slipped down to the floor and closed up into a tight ball. She shouldn’t be here. She should be at Walter Reed with Easy. She tried to tell herself that he was in good hands, but they weren’t her hands. It seemed as if they had been taking care of each other for a lifetime instead of five days. She had to get a grip.
But despite her pep talk, the awful ache wouldn’t go away, and no amount of blinking would clear her vision. She would have given anything to be by his bedside.
There was a knock on the door. “Astraea? Are you all right?”
Astraea pushed herself up off the floor, and said hoarsely, “Yes.” She cleared her throat. “Yes, I’m okay.”
Under the spray of the shower, the hot water exquisite, she pressed her hands to the tiles reliving that awful feeling that churned through her when Ramos had caught them. Easy had been outnumbered, and he relinquished his weapons to keep her from being caught in a firefight. He had been so strong and brave. She released one hand and covered her eyes, finally giving in to the intolerable pressure in her chest. It was the panic that unraveled her—and the awful tension that had dogged her every mile they’d put between her and Caracas and Ramos.
She couldn’t discount all the accumulated strain of a solid two months of worry about her job, manipulating Falk, and the heart-stopping fear of being arrested, enduring incarceration without hope of release, and fighting off the advancement of guards and that sicko Ramos. She was very lucky to be alive. She had shoved the constant anxiety to the back of her mind, refusing to give in to it. But now, alone in the shower, she let it take her under, as if, after months of stockpiling the fear and panic and frightening uncertainty, she needed to throw that release valve.
It seemed like an eternity before she cried herself out…again, her harsh sobs dwindling to the occasional ragged one. Pressing the heels of her hands against her throbbing, swollen eyes, she forced herself to dredge up some control, then she started to wash off all the mud, blood, and Ramos’s touch, letting her wayward emotions settle. The hot water was wonderful, the lotion on her abused skin smelled wonderful. How she had missed the trappings of civilization. She would never take them for granted again.
When she emerged from the bedroom dressed in a pair of gray sweatpants and a gray cami beneath a comfortable long-sleeved navy-blue cardigan, she felt a little bit better. Lena watched her with sympathetic eyes. There was no way she could have missed Astraea’s crying jag.
“You ready for a meal?”
Astraea nodded, and Lena took her down to the restaurant. It was clear she’d pulled some strings. The place was deserted, the lighting dim, but the waiter was attentive, and the meal was delicious.
Back in her hotel room, Lena said, “I’ll leave you to sleep, unless you would like me to stay.”
Lena’s kindness washed over her. “No, that’s not necessary. Thank you for everything. I’m sorry about my outburst. I know you’re only trying to help.”
Lena squeezed Astraea’s shoulder. “You need anything at all, call me. I’ll be back at nine tomorrow morning to get you to your meetings.”
Astraea spent a fitful night, waking up in a panic several times, worrying about Easy. It was frustrating torture not to know how he was doing.
Regardless of the difficult night, Astraea was up and ready when Lena called from the limo. When she got to the State Department, housed in the Harry S. Truman Building, both Secretary of State Eleanor Kastkit and Attorney General Travis Langston were professional, sympathetic, and tough when it came to the charges against Mitchum Falk, Kyle Nost, and Raymond Clary.
She’d asked about the repercussions to her in the wake of her escape and the subsequent death of Ramos.
The secretary of state said, “The Venezuelan president told me himself that he couldn’t care less about the deaths of Ramos and his SEBIN assassins or an American woman that got the best of him. He offered his condolences regarding Brian Cole’s murder and indicated that he would support the OCI’s investigation into civil rights violations of US citizens at El Helicoide, of which Juan Acosta was a huge part.” There was so much to go through and statements to sign. It took several hours.
Here she was now, unable to get any information about Easy. She had no one to call but Lena, who had tried for an hour after she returned to the hotel, but she’d been unable to get any answers. She promised to try again in the morning.
But Astraea was leaving after Brian Cole’s funeral the next day. She was needed in Dallas where the arrests were going to happen, and she needed to consult with her own lawyer, not to mention the need to get to her family now that her story had broken to the press. There were also many requests from the media for interviews and guest spots on nighttime talk shows. It was all so overwhelming.
Sighing, she finished off her nightcap and set the empty crystal glass on the white marble wet bar. She stood there, her hand trembling. She looked around and something about the cold beauty of the hotel room set off all the feelings she had experienced since her arrest. Suddenly, her chest was jammed tight. She wanted to throw the glass across the room, hear it smash on the beautiful marble tiles, and throw a perfectly arranged flower vase through the gorgeous window.
She had never experienced this kind of feeling eating her up inside, and she started shaking all over again. Turning abruptly from the bar, she stormed across the room, the feeling expanding as she slammed through the bathroom door. She stood there shaking, and decided that before she imploded, she needed to get a grip.If that’s possible,she thought as she turned on the Jacuzzi tub, poured a generous amount of bath oil into the churning water, then yanked her blouse free of her jeans. Feeling as if she was coming apart seam by seam, she went back to the living area, and something snapped inside of her. She turned to the big accent wall and threw herself at it, her fists pounding as she screamed out all her pent-up anger and anxiety, her need to see Easy. Now!
Damn them! Damn them for keeping her in the dark, for treating her like nothing but a hostage who had no ties to the man who had saved her life. He had changed everything for her. Everything and she wanted to let him know that.
There was a knock at the door and Astraea turned from the wall. She clenched her teeth, whoever was there had better watch out. She was going to make demands.
When she pulled open the door, it was as if she released all the emotions damned up inside her, and everything came boiling out. Stumbling forward, she threw herself into Rosa’s arms, hanging onto her friend for all she was worth.
An hour later, after that Jacuzzi bath Rosa insisted on, and a glass of wine Rosa also insisted on, some of the strain of the muscles along her neck, shoulders, and back released. She’d soaked for a while, relaxing against the chaise-like formation, her body immersed up to her chin in the luxurious bath. She had dried off and donned a ribbed knit, dusty pink cami top, and shorts, belting the matching robe over it loosely at her waist.
Her throat raw, her face still puffy from her emotional outburst, Astraea slipped out of the hotel’s suite onto the balcony, feeling strangely calm inside. It was as if she had poured everything out to Rosa, and now there was nothing left. It was a nice feeling, that kind of emptiness. Maybe, she thought with a hope she’d never allowed, she could fill herself up with all that she had learned in the past week. Get in touch with the woman she really, truly was. The woman she had found in Easy’s safe and comforting arms.
She should start with Rosa. Crossing to the open sliding glass door, she slipped through. It was a beautiful summer night, and she spied Rosa sitting on one of the chaises, DC spread out in light, illuminating the streets below all the way to the Washington Monument.
