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“I thought we were leaving.”
“Let’s walk down the street to a bakery.”
She smiles shyly and says nothing, stepping onto the elevator as the doors open. We’re alone on the ride down. I hold her close, mind churning, careful not to hurt her shoulder.
My coat contains something special, right in the same inner breast pocket where the crown of her head touches.
But she doesn’t know.
We’re both deep in our own thoughts, the elevator bell ding! startling us, making Lindsay smile and shake her head. The sun is blinding, like always. It’s good to know the world goes on, even as our own individual worlds seemed to fall apart for a little while.
Time to put life back together, better than ever.
“Are you okay?” Lindsay asks, pausing. I stop walking and look at her, my gut clenching.
In the sunlight, she’s more beaten up. Hospital lighting is harsh, but sunlight is the great equalizer. She must see something in my face, some part of my reaction I can’t hide, because she reaches up and touches her hair.
“I’m fine.” I mimic her, except instead of touching my hair, I pat my pocket. The little velvet box is in there, along with an important envelope.
Last night was a long night at Lindsay’s place. While she slept, insomnia gripped me. A man can do a lot of thinking in his girlfriend’s bed, her light breath warming his arm, her gorgeous self in a state of total trust.
A lot of thinking.
I have a plan.
A harmless little plan of my own.
We find a small café. I guide her to a private table, then go to the counter and return with two coffees and a box of assorted pastries. Lindsay peeks in the box and laughs.
“Planning a party? Who do you expect to eat all this, Drew? There’s enough for a dozen people.”
I admire the curve of her arm as she reaches up to brush her hair back from her face. She grabs an apple pastry and takes a bite, groaning with culinary pleasure.
I enjoy that, too.
As we steal these peaceful moments from the rest of our tumultuous lives, I wait. I know she’ll bring it up.
And finally, she does.
“Do you really think they’ll try to send me to the Island?”
“Yes.”
“I won’t go.”
“Then don’t.”
“They have so much power, Drew. You know them. They’ll find a way if they really want me gone.”
My body goes tight with a protective streak I’ve had since the day I met her. “We can stop them.”
“How?”
It’s suddenly very warm in this little café. Sweat breaks out where my collar meets my neck. I rub my palms on the tops of my thighs.
You can do this, Foster.
I can take out an Afghan warlord from hundreds of yards away, cool as a cucumber and steady as can be with a rifle and not break a sweat.
