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“I was actually thinking…” Color rises to her cheeks and along her neck, all the way to the rim of her T-shirt collar. “Would you…could we maybe…one more time? It just…it feels like this is over, and I don’t have any expectations. I know we live on different sides of the country and…” She’s staring down at the comforter, full of uncertainty, and if there’s one thing she doesn’t need to be unsure of, it’s my desire and willingness.
“Hey,” I say, stepping close to her, “trust me. I’d love nothing more. But I was worried about you.”
“Me?”
“You said you’re sore.” I touch her shoulder, stepping closer, breathing her in.
“Maybe, but…when you get back, everything will be different.”
“No. It won’t. We’ll work something out.”
Her expression has me wondering if she can hear my self-doubt at that statement. I’ve got a long history of relationships petering out when faced with the prospect of distance.
“But if everything’s about to change…” She turns in my arms, her palms flat against my chest. “One more time?”
The duffel bag hits the ground. She and I have more than one more time in our future, but I’ll be damned if I’m going to leave her wanting. And as we come together, sweaty and out of breath, I know without a doubt she is someone I will never get enough of.
CHAPTER 28
Sage
Stella and Trevor’s apartment boasts a modern, clean design. The sofa and chairs in the living room are leather. Black-and-white-framed mountainscapes decorate white walls. One of the framed portraits is an aerial shot of two men hanging on rope off the side of a mountain, rappelling downward. Stella told me the two men pictured are Trevor and her son Ethan. He’s currently serving in the Navy with a goal of becoming a SEAL.
This apartment was Trevor’s before they got married, and they keep it because of its proximity to Arrow’s offices. They stay here when they’re going out at night in the area. And Arrow employees stay here when they’re visiting from out-of-town.
She swore up and down staying here with me wasn’t an imposition at all. I promised I’d be okay staying here by myself. And she cocked her head and grinned. “Honey, I know that. But your guy wouldn’t be okay with that. When he knows you’re safe, he can focus.”
But he’s not my guy. It had been on the tip of my tongue. But there was no point in divulging the truth of our relationship. I mean, he’ll always be my guy. I’ll always love him. He’s my first and will likely be my only. I can’t imagine being with anyone else. Not after being with Knox. But still, she’s making it sound like we’re in a committed relationship and we aren’t. We’re navigating seeing each other once I return home. But, there’s no reason to clarify the state of our relationship to Stella.
With each passing hour, my apprehension intensifies. Sunlight streams in through expansive windows, and the tops of palm trees sway across the street. Knox should’ve landed by now, but I haven’t received a text. Stella warned me this morning that the men don’t communicate frequently when they’re working.
This morning I woke to the smell of coffee and bacon. Stella greeted me in the kitchen, saying Trevor leaves early in the morning. After breakfast, Stella suggested that the two of us go for a walk outside. She said no one should have to spend the day cooped up inside.
I questioned her, remembering how Knox had changed his mind about a walk on the beach yesterday, but Stella assured me that she works with these men day in and day out and that they can be over-the-top cautious. While on our little walk around the neighborhood, we stopped in Arrow’s offices, and I had the opportunity to thank Ryan. Well-funded or not, they were doing more than I could have ever expected.
“It’s an honor to help a fellow brother’s family. I didn’t know Sam personally, but I heard good things.” Ryan believes Sam is dead. Everyone believes Sam is dead, except for me. Dead or alive, he’s still in Ryan’s military brotherhood, so I smiled and thanked him. “You know, my partner, Jack Sullivan, met with Sam. He held him in high regard.”
The thank you I uttered felt weak and inadequate. But I’ve learned over the years that few people know the best thing to say. I appreciated his willingness to talk about my brother. Some people refuse, as if bringing him up in conversation might hurt.
Felix sits at the kitchen table, a laptop open, tapping away.
I circled him about an hour ago, expecting to see a streaming chat or possibly a report document. His screen showed an illustrated man in fatigues with a scary-looking long gun in his hand and blown-out buildings in the background. The gun lifted, and a man went flying backward through the air. I passed quickly so he wouldn’t know I caught him playing a video game.
He’s been on the phone several times with his wife, Maria. Based on some of the things I’ve overheard, I suspect she’s the reason he stayed back. He asked her if she’s doing okay and reminded her he’d be home tonight.
Millie stretches out on the sofa, her nose a hair’s breadth from my leg. Of all the occupants in the condo, she’s happiest. And the most relaxed. Pinpricks of dark hair cover the shaved area, and the corner of the glue taping her injury flicks up on the end, as if it’s ready to peel. The instructions were to let it fall off on its own. The injury is close enough to her head she can’t lick it, which is a good thing. Otherwise, she’d need to walk around with a cone.
“They’re set to go in after dusk,” Felix announces.
“How long do you think it’ll take?”
“Unclear. They’re reviewing drone footage and building floor plans. They’re going in by water. If all goes well, they’ll surface, approach, wait until it’s lights-out on the island, and go in via the beach where there’s no border wall. Retrieve her and head out. I’d say when you wake in the morning, you’ll have good news.”
As if I’ll be sleeping tonight. “That’s if things go well. What if things don’t go well?” There’s always a worst-case scenario. With medical procedures, you have to read the fine print, but that worst case is often death.
Felix twists in his seat. “Our guys are some of the best trained in the world. Yes, there’s security they need to get around, but typically, the folks hired for security lack training. We’ve also got the element of surprise. One that, ideally, we won’t need to leverage. But you asked if things don’t go well, what does that look like?” I nod, fully aware I’m going to get a softened answer, because Felix is talking to me like he has bad news that he doesn’t want to share. The sloping shoulders and the curved spine, an attempt to get down to eye level and reassure, are all familiar postures. “A less than ideal outcome is if we’re exposed. If our guys don’t get in and out unseen. But we know what we’re doing. Our guys will be fine. We’re equipped and skilled.”
He’s talking about gun skills. Hand-to-hand combat skills. Dammit, Sloane. If she’d taken any number of the jobs Stateside, none of this would be happening.
