CHAPTER THREE
IT WAS THE HELPLESSNESS, the not knowing, that was driving Ham crazy.
That and the hum of frustration right under his skin that buzzed, kept him from sleeping.
He needed answers. Confirmation of his suspicions.
Some way to fix this.
Because his nightmares were playing out a scenario in his head that had the woman he loved—yes, he would always love Signe Kincaid—running around Europe with the Chinese or the Russians chasing her, the NOC list in her hand.
So he’d never been so glad to get on a plane. Because Ham couldn’t get his conversation with White out of his head, either. Crazy hope had lit inside him that maybe—please—White’s request had something to do with Signe.
Which would only mean, of course, that Signe was in trouble. That dragged up visions of her body washing up in some murky canal.
She hadn’t answered the phone. Twice on Sunday morning, and then five more times during the last twenty-four hours.
Ham wanted to throw something against a wall.
“Would you like a drink, sir?” The flight attendant stopped by his row on the morning flight to DC.
“Coffee, please,” he managed, without the growl he felt in his throat.
She filled his cup and set it on the tray. She posed the same question to Orion, who sat next to Ham, but he had his earbuds in so Ham nudged him.
Orion pulled them out. “Coffee.”
She filled a cup and he took it, turned back to the window.
So maybe they were all grumpy this morning. All but Jake Silver, who’d shown up wearing his earbuds and a grin.
Apparently, things were going well with Aria. Finally. Ham had invited her on the trip, but the pediatric cardiothoracic doc had surgeries scheduled. Still, Jake seemed a little less at loose ends, a little more focused since Aria had walked into his life and stayed.
But that’s what happened when you found the one your soul loved. You felt complete. As if the world had steadied beneath your feet.
Ham drew in a breath, tried to ignore the deep ache inside.
“Maybe your wife is still trying to protect you.” Garrett’s words stirred in his head.
That wasn’t her job. He was supposed to protect her.
He glanced over at Orion. “You okay?”
Orion nodded, his jaw tight as he stared out at the clouds.
Yeah, sure he was.
Ham didn’t have to do the math—Jenny had turned Orion down. Which made no sense to Ham, but then again, he was batting zero in the understanding-women category lately. They’d returned from dinner out on Sunday afternoon and Jenny had driven back to Minneapolis in her own car, while Orion rode with Ham. Orion said exactly nothing for two excruciating hours.
They arrived separately to the airport this morning too, and Orion barely spoke to Jenny, although she’d tried to engage him in conversation.
Nope. Orion could be stubborn when he wanted to be, and he’d walked ahead of them, bought a cup of coffee and sat three seats down from Jenny and Scarlett as they waited for the flight. Jake had shown up late, of course, wearing headphones, probably listening to a podcast, and now sat next to the women, watching a movie.
Once they got working, maybe things would work themselves out. Depending on what White said, Ham had planned a few days of urban SAR training with Pete Brooks, who ran point on one of the Red Cross SAR teams. Pete wanted to connect them with a K9 handler to familiarize the team with working with rescue dogs and some new tech they were utilizing.
It only made Ham think of that mangy dog Signe had loved so much.
Aw, shoot, he’d loved Caesar too.
Now Ham’s thoughts were back to Signe, and how when she believed in something—like rescuing a drenched dog—she went all in, refusing to give up.
“More coffee?” The flight attendant leaned over him with a tray of coffee cups. He took one. Nudged Orion.
Orion took two and set them on his tray.
“Need me to open a vein for you?” Ham said.
Orion looked at him, his eyes a little cracked with red. “How long is this field trip?”
“Fundraiser’s tomorrow night at the Patriot Hotel. Then we’re going to do some urban K9 SAR training for a few days.”
“Yippee,” Orion said. He looked back out the window. But not before his gaze fell on Jenny, sitting with Scarlett.
“Okay, buddy. What’s going on between you and Jenny?”
Orion sighed. “She said no.”
“It gets better.” Orion’s mouth tightened around the edges. “She practically shouted it for the entire town to hear. ‘No, I won’t marry you, Orion.’ Then she ran out of the joint like I was some kind of a jerk. I caught up with her at the car, and she was crying so hard she couldn’t talk, and when I tried to comfort her, she pushed me away like I really am a jerk and . . .” He shook his head and glanced at Jenny again, so much pain in his expression Ham had to look away.
How well Ham knew that expression. “So, she didn’t give you a reason?”
“Nope. We went back to the Marshalls’, she packed and left for Minneapolis. I tried to call her, but she didn’t pick up.” He shook his head. “I don’t know what to do.”
“Maybe there’s nothing you can do.”
Orion shot him a look. “Yeah. How are you doing with not being able to fix things between you and Signe? Having fun yet?”
Ham said nothing as Orion stared back out the window.
The sky over Reagan airport was overcast and dour, rain spitting down. Ham ordered an UberX and they drove inside the Beltway to their hotel, just off the National Mall.
The Patriot Hotel, circa 1847, was a grand twelve-story building with white columns and had so much history embedded in its gilded walls, Ham felt as if he’d walked back in time. He stood outside the golden-hued reception area with more two-story columns and grand chandeliers and inhaled the sense that the place held a thousand secrets.
“Seriously?” Jake said as he came in, his duffel bag over his shoulder. “This is where the fundraiser is being held? I guess I should have brought a suit.”
Ham looked at him, a little wide-eyed, and Jake winked. “Just kidding, boss.”
“A lot of history in this place,” Ham said. “You probably need to wear a suit to bed.”
“I heard there are tunnels from the Patriot to the White House,” Orion said, walking toward a red, round conversation sofa that looked straight out of the Gilded Age.
Jenny stood at the entrance, surveying the ornate ceiling.
Scarlett, his new communications tech, walked past her, on her cell phone. Ham had met the former Navy petty officer just three months ago while on an op in Ukraine. She hung up the phone, glanced around the lobby, and Ham’s gaze followed her search until it landed on a man sitting in one of the gold brocade Queen Anne chairs. Military in his bearing, he was wide-shouldered, with his dark hair cut short, wearing a pair of jeans and a long-sleeve blue oxford rolled up to the elbows.
Right. Ford Marshall, Scarlett’s boyfriend. Ham should have expected to see him here, maybe, but the man was an active-duty SEAL, so who knew where and when he’d show up.
Ford came over to Scarlett, gave her a hug and added a kiss.
With him was a burly black man, also exuding a military aura, with a wide smile aimed directly at Scarlett.
“Hey, Trini.” She glanced at Ham. He walked over and shook the man’s hand. Also a SEAL, Ham guessed.
“Ford and Trini have a ninety-six, so I invited them. Hope that’s okay.”
Ham refused to compare Scarlett to Signe. Because had Signe, even once, contacted him while he was on leave, he would have been on the first plane to anywhere.
He should probably get his brain off Signe and the what-ifs. “I have one extra ticket for tomorrow’s event—”
“I’ve got family to see, so I’m out,” Trini said.
Ford slid his arm around Scarlett’s shoulders. “Thanks, Ham.”
Ham headed to the front desk and checked his team in. White had given them all separate rooms, so Ham handed out keys then headed up to his own, on the eleventh floor.
There, he dropped his bag onto the white bedspread and went to the window.
The view looked out onto the National Mall, the spire of the Washington Monument spearing the blue sky, the trees that blanketed the horizon an array of yellow, fiery orange, and pale green.
Signe, where are you? Please be okay.
Ham pressed his hand against the window, the pane cold against his palm. But it didn’t stop Signe from reappearing in his memory, opening the closet door, and sitting down opposite him after his mother’s funeral.
“Want a Rice Krispies bar?”
She’d pulled her dress over her knees. She wore tube socks and tennis shoes, so he guessed the dress was her grandmother’s doing.
His eyes had adjusted to the darkness, and in the thread of light, he made out her face, her tentative smile.
He hadn’t realized how much he’d missed her until this moment. For the first time in a week, it seemed he could breathe.
“How’s Caesar?” he asked.
“Grandmother found him and I got a whipping, but she said he could stay in the barn so . . .” She grinned at him. “It was worth it.” Her smile vanished. “I’m sorry about your mom.”
His eyes welled up. “It’s okay. Dad says she’s in a better place now. Not suffering anymore.”
“Do you really believe that?”
He gave her a slow nod. “Yeah. I think so.”
“Your mom was really nice, Ham. She made cookies for my birthday.”
Silence.
Then, “Ham, do you think my mom’s in heaven?”
What did he know? “I guess so.”
“Grandmother says she isn’t. That she threw her life away on drugs and God turned his back on her.” She sighed. “Do you think God does that?”
He shrugged.
She was quiet for a long time. “Grandmother says that I’m a bad person because I don’t obey. I ask too many questions. I get in the way. And, because I don’t have a dad.”
Sometimes Ham really hated her grandmother. He knew it wasn’t right to hate—his mother had said that Signe’s grandmother was just grieving, and that it made her say things she didn’t mean. But when she screamed at Signe and hit her, it sure seemed like she meant them.
“Do you think your mom can tell God that . . . that I’m sorry?”
“Sorry for what?”
“For being bad. I won’t throw my life away.”
He didn’t know what to say. He just knew that he really wanted to climb back into bed with his mother, feel her arms around him. Listen to her sing her hymns.
Remind himself that he wasn’t alone.
He drew up his knees, locking his arms around them. Signe said nothing when his weeping became audible. Then, Signe’s hand slid through the light from under the door and held out a Rice Krispies bar.
Now, he touched his forehead to the window. Please, God, don’t let her throw her life away. Help me find her.
Ham stepped away from the window and shook away the memory before he lost his mind.
The team met for dinner at the hotel’s Cafe Du Parc. Ham ate seared rockfish and watched as Orion sat picking at his braised short ribs. Jenny and Jake had a conversation about the best way to serve oysters. Scarlett had abandoned them for a date with Ford, and frankly, Ham couldn’t get through dinner fast enough.
Especially when Jenny touched Jake’s arm and laughed and Orion threw down his napkin, got up, and stalked away.
“You might go easy on the guy,” Ham said to her.
She looked like she’d been slapped and he felt like a jerk, and then she ground her jaw, as if trying not to cry, and yeah, he wasn’t the guy to fix anything.
“Jenny?”
She fled from the table. Jake raised an eyebrow and Ham just shook his head and handed the waitress his credit card.
It was after ten by the time he returned to his room, but he was still dressed, still staring out at the lights of a darkened DC when his cell phone rang. “I’m here.”
“I know,” White said. “Go down to the service level. Someone will be waiting.”
Ham nearly sprinted to the elevator.
A moment later, the doors opened to the basement floor, and Ham got out. A man stood at the entrance, his back to him, wearing a gray suit coat, his hand stuck into the pockets of his dress pants. He turned.
Ham’s heart stopped. “Logan?”
Petty Officer Logan Thorne, one of the SEALs Ham had rescued in Afghanistan. His brown hair was cut short, his green eyes solemn, but he wore a slow, deliberate smile Ham would never forget.
“Chief.” Logan held out his hand, but Ham bypassed it and pulled him into an embrace.
“Seriously? What—I don’t—” He put him away. “Orion said you were on the lam in Alaska!”
“I was. Long story. I’m back and working for White now on special projects. One of them concerning an out-of-pocket NOC list.” He walked to a door at the end of the hallway and keyed in a code.
It opened and he held it open for Ham. “Down three flights.”
Ham took the stairs down to another secure entrance. Logan opened it and they went inside to a corridor with dim lighting and the smell of age emanating off the cement.
“I knew there were tunnels down here,” Ham said.
“They lead all over the mall area, but this one in particular leads to White’s favorite restaurant, the Hamilton.”
“I like the name.”
He followed Logan down the corridor, up another flight of stairs, and into the back room of a kitchen. Logan walked through the area without blinking and came out into a larger room that reminded Ham of an old speakeasy, with a long, deep walnut bar, chandeliers, and cigar chairs.
Logan led him into a back room and closed the door.
Senator Isaac White sat alone at a table, drinking a cup of coffee. He was impeccably dressed, of course, in a gray suit and blue tie, but Ham easily remembered the day when White wore muddy BDUs and night-vision goggles. The man cleaned up well, his blue eyes warm as he met Ham’s grip. “Thanks for meeting me, Ham.”
“Anytime, Senator. Or should I say, Mr. President.”
“Isaac, please, and it’s too soon for that. But thanks for the sentiment.” He laughed, though, and offered Ham a seat.
Ham would have preferred to stand, the buzz under his skin nearly lighting him on fire. “So, what is this all about?”
Isaac ran his thumb around the edge of his mug. “Logan, can you give us the room?”
Logan left, the door closing softly behind him, and Isaac leaned forward and reached into his pocket. Pulled out a piece of paper. “This is a copy of an email I was forwarded from a contact I have in Europe. It’s a request for contact from one of our operatives in deep cover. The operative calls himself simply Three, and we think he or she has the NOC list. The contact claims that they stole it from the Russians and need to get it into safe hands.”
Ham picked up the email. “Who did you get this from?”
Isaac considered him. “The Prince. Also known as Roy.”
The name punched Ham, and he drew in his breath. “Royal Benjamin.” He glanced at the door. “Does Logan know this?”
“Yes. He is aware that Roy has been working as a blacklist operator for a few years now.” Isaac didn’t continue, but Ham had a sense that Logan knew it because of his run-in with a rogue CIA group at work inside the company—a story he’d told Orion a year ago when he showed up shot in Alaska, on the run and in trouble.
Ham didn’t ask how Logan had hooked up with White, but the senator had told him once that Logan was safe, so . . .
“Then why did you have him step out?”
“Because I wanted you to be free to say no,” White said.
“No?”
“Roy sent me a message and told me the meet went south. He was there, scoping out the scene before the meet, but so was someone else—possibly a rogue agent. How he found out about the meet, Roy doesn’t know. Just that he intercepted Three, and when Roy tried to chase the operative down, he failed. Which means the NOC list is still at large.”
“And where do I fit in?”
“Somehow, Roy was compromised. He said that the operator won’t trust him, and that he needs someone Three might agree to meet with on sight.”
Ham frowned. “I don’t understand.”
Isaac sighed. Nodded. “I remember what happened in Chechnya, Ham. That you lost your wife.”
Ham took a breath.
“I also know about your daughter, and the idea that your wife didn’t die, but in fact embedded with a rebel Chechen group for the last ten years.”
His heart had begun to drown out Isaac’s words.
“We have reason to believe that . . . well, Three is in fact Signe Kincaid. Your wife.”
His wife.
And although he suspected it, even longed for it, the words out of Isaac’s mouth flattened Ham. He had nothing, even when Isaac produced a picture on his phone, laying it in front of Ham.
It was blurred, and just a side view, so it was hard to tell, but the woman wore her blonde hair tied up in a bun, a pair of sunglasses, and her profile . . .
Yeah, Ham would know Signe anywhere. He bit back the crazy urge to cry.
“If we can reestablish contact with her, would you be willing to set up a meet and recover the NOC list?”
Oh, he’d do much more than that.
You can’t fix this, Ham.
Oh yes, he could.
He would bring her home.
Jenny should probably quit the team. Because it didn’t take a doctor of psychology or a former CIA profiler to recognize the pain her very presence caused Orion.
Just like the pain his presence caused her. Because the man cleaned up oh, so very well. He wore a black suit, white dress shirt, and navy-blue tie, and had shaven. Frankly, one look at him made Jenny want to turn around and leave the ballroom, despite the glitter of the event with its golden chairs, white tablecloths, and ornate chandeliers dappling magic around the room, enhanced by the classical music playing from the small ensemble at the front.
The Red Cross knew how to throw a gala. She thought she spotted a few celebrities in the audience—Trace Adkins, Sara Evans, and even Eli Manning milling with the crowd.
None of them caught her eye like Orion Starr. He’d walked into the room with Jake, a hard set to his jaw, and when he looked her way, she’d averted her eyes.
She simply didn’t know what to say to him.
Oh, what a debacle.
Now, he sat across from her, with Jake, Scarlett, and Ford between them to her left, Ham and his Red Cross friend Pete Brooks with fiancée Jess Tagg on her right. Which meant Jenny had a nearly unobstructed view—save for the orange bird-of-paradise flower arrangement in the middle of the table—of Orion and the way he just wouldn’t look at her, either.
It was all her fault.
She could have handled her response to Orion’s sweet proposal much, much, much better.
She’d simply panicked—a reaction, really, that had been building for the nearly twenty-four hours after she’d watched him rescue Aggie and the two other children at the carnival.
Of course he scrambled up that Ferris wheel after Ham.
Of course he rescued the two other children in the other basket.
And of course he’d relish darling Aggie’s affection, the way she called him Uncle Ry.
Watching him teach Aggie how to shoot baskets had nearly turned Jenny into a puddle. He wasn’t just devastatingly handsome, with his dark brown hair, those pensive green eyes that could see right into her heart—or most of it—but he had a rescuer’s heart.
She’d always known that, birthed in the days she’d watched him deploy and rescue soldiers working in-country in Afghanistan as a pararescue jumper.
Yes, Orion was a hero.
But he was downright dangerous to her heart. Because inevitably—and shoot, she should have known this would happen—he’d want more.
It wasn’t until she saw him with Aggie that that last truth had clicked in and destroyed everything.
“Are you finished, ma’am?” A waiter gestured to her half-finished chicken cordon bleu, asparagus, and mashed potatoes. She nodded and turned to listen to the speaker just being introduced.
Presidential candidate Isaac White’s running mate, Senator Reba Jackson. An impressive woman with blondish-red hair, tall, striking, dressed in a white pantsuit with a blue-and-white handkerchief around her neck. She had taken the podium after the welcomes and talked a little about how the Red Cross had saved lives after the Hurricane Lucy disaster in the Keys. And how, once she and White were elected, they would continue to support the work of the Red Cross, blah, blah, blah . . . Jenny had tuned her out, every cell of her body focused on Orion and his comments to Pete during today’s introductory training.
Comments about how Pete had invited him to work for his Red Cross Rescue team.
She liked Pete. He had a charming smile, wore his blond hair long and behind his ears, and exuded a slight Montana aura, maybe due to his western drawl. He sat with his arm propped on the back of his fiancée’s chair. Jess could have been a model, with her tall, willowy figure, a peacock-blue dress that could stop a crowd, and her blonde hair left long and golden. But she had real SAR chops, showing up today to work with the K9 team Pete had assembled, led by a woman named Dani Masterson. Pete and Dani showed them some cool new tech they used with the dogs to track their searches, like Kevlar paw protectors and orbital cameras, and that was interesting, but her ears perked up when Pete suggested Orion join his team. Ham and Pete had a good-natured verbal tussle over Orion, and she simply tried to stay calm while her heart tried to leap, screaming, from her chest.
Please. No. She’d joined this team because of Orion. Because she wanted to be in his life.
Because he gave her a fresh start, and because, most of all, she felt whole with him.
Until, of course, being with him made her realize she could never truly be whole. Wow, she so didn’t see that coming.
God sure knew how to blindside her. And deservedly so. She should have realized the truth before she dove into a relationship with this amazing man.
She had no business dreaming of the kind of future Orion wanted. He deserved better. And she would not be the cause of his leaving.
Jackson finished her speech and introduced her running mate for president, Senator White.
He started in on his speech, more blah, blah, blah about the Red Cross, although probably super interesting if a gal wasn’t fine-tuned to everything Orion was doing.
Leaning back in his chair. Sighing deeply, as if in pain.
She couldn’t take it. Wadding up her napkin, she got up, ducked her head as if trying to remain unseen, and left the room.
The room was half-darkened, but as she slipped out, walking past six hundred or more eyes, she drew in a full breath, every bone in her body thin and brittle.
Outside, she leaned against the wall of the hallway, pressed her hands against it.
“Jenny, are you okay?”
The voice surprised her—mostly because Scarlett Hathaway might be the last person Jenny thought would follow her. The communications expert had joined the team just recently, and even then this had been her first training event. Still, Jenny liked her. Petite, with short dark hair and dark brown eyes, she seemed tough, no-nonsense, and just the kind of person they needed to direct verbal traffic during a rescue.
Now, Scarlett wore a simple black-and-silver sequined dress that caught the lights of the room, something spunky and surprising.
Maybe Jenny should have tried harder than her simple black dress, her hair in a braid down her back . . .
It didn’t matter. The more Orion noticed her, the more the pain sharpened between them.
She sighed. “I’m not feeling well. I think I need to go back to my room.”
“I’ll walk you.”
“No, that’s okay—”
“Listen. White already has my vote. And . . .” Scarlett made a face. “I know I don’t know you that well, but is there something going on between you and Orion? Because, I thought you two were dating—”
“We broke up.” The words slammed into her. We. Broke. Up.
Had they? Probably. But suddenly her eyes filled and her throat tightened, and shoot, now she really needed to escape to her room.
She pushed away from the wall.
“Jenny?”
“I . . . I just . . .”
“Want to talk about it?” Scarlett had stepped back but kept her voice low. “Because I know a little bit about loving a teammate, and the ways it can go south.”
Jenny looked at Scarlett, frowned.
“Ford and I used to be on the same team, sorta. And . . . well, we’re still working it out, but we had our dark moments.”
“Orion asked me to marry him.” Oh, she didn’t know why she said that—it just burst out of her.
Scarlett’s eyes widened. “And?”
“I said no.” She winced, her hand covering her mouth.
“Okay, yes, we’re talking.” Scarlett grabbed her hand and marched her down the hall to the elevators. “Are you on the eleventh floor too?”
Scarlett practically pushed her into the elevator, and Jenny pressed her fingers under her eyes to stop the stupid flow of tears as they rode up. “I’m fine, really—”
“I know,” Scarlett said, looking at the numbers. “The kind of fine that needs a room-service pizza and maybe a pint of chocolate ice cream.”
Jenny gave a pitiful laugh-cry that dissolved into weeping.
Scarlett took Jenny’s tiny clutch out of her hand, opened it, and pulled out her key. “Which room?”
“1101.”
She headed down the hall, opened her room, and dropped her bag on the bed. “Comfy clothes, pronto. I’ll call room service.”
It felt a little like being back with the military, but Jenny obeyed, changing into a pair of yoga pants and a T-shirt.
By the time she came out of the bathroom, Scarlett had taken off her shoes and was scanning through the television channels. She settled on Cake Boss, muted the television, and curled up on the blue Queen Anne chair, pulling her feet up beneath her.
Jenny sat on the bed and grabbed a pillow.
“Should we start at the beginning, or just the moment when you decided to tell the man you love that you won’t marry him? And don’t tell me you don’t love Orion, because not only did I see the way you looked at him tonight when he walked in, but hello, he has hero written all over him. Orion is one of the sweetest, most thoughtful—”
“Generous, giving, and brave men I know. And more. He’s a man of faith, he’s a rescuer, he would be a great husband—”
“And father?”
“Yes, absolutely. And that’s the problem.” Jenny took a breath. “I don’t want kids.”
A beat, and then she looked at Scarlett, who was nodding. “I get it, I guess. Kids complicate things. Orion and you would probably have to choose between the team and your family—”
“No, it’s not that. I mean, I . . . I really don’t want children.” She made a face. “Truth is, I guess I never really admitted it to myself—more of a feeling than an absolute, but . . .” She sighed. “When I saw the way Orion reacted to Aggie, I could see him with a child—a bunch of kids, really, and I knew he would be a great dad. And he deserves to have a child.”
“And you don’t?”
Jenny looked away. “I just don’t think I’d be a very good mom.”
“What? Why?”
She shook her head. And no, she didn’t know Scarlett well enough to dive into all of it, so, “My mom didn’t really want to be a mom, and she tried, but it was a big fail. I was more of a mom to her than she was to me.”
“Oh, I had one of those moms,” Scarlett said. “I was raised by a single mom, and she tried, but she was a disaster.” Oddly, her eyes filled. “She died recently, but it’s made me wonder about the whole mothering thing too. Although, that probably won’t happen for a while, with Ford’s lifestyle.”
“He’s an active-duty SEAL, right?”
“And we also have a slight complication. My little brother is in foster care, and lives with me once in a while. But Ford comes from this big family, and my guess is that someday— ”
“There’s probably not a someday for me.”
Scarlett nodded, took in her words. Then, quietly, “Just because you had a bad mom doesn’t mean you’re going to be a bad mom.”
“I think maybe it does. And it’s not fair to Orion. He needs to move on and find someone who can give him the family he wants.”
“Did you tell him that?”
“I completely freaked out. I didn’t see the proposal coming—I don’t know why. When he suggested visiting the Marshall family farm—”
“The Marshall family—wait.” Scarlett leaned forward. “Ford is a Marshall. His family lives in Montana.”
“Garrett and Jenny Marshall were my foster parents. They run a winery in Minnesota.”
“Oh. Different Marshalls.” Scarlett leaned back. “The Montana Marshalls live on a ranch in midwestern Montana.”
“Garrett and Jenny are great people. I went there broken, and living with them healed me in so many ways. Garrett is like my father in a way. But I never dreamed that Orion would ask him if he could marry me. And then, suddenly there he was, down on one knee in the pizza parlor and I just . . . I panicked. I said no and ran out of the restaurant.”
“Oh.”
“I was crying when he caught up to me at the car, and I just couldn’t tell him . . . I knew he’d tell me it was okay, that we didn’t have to have children, and frankly, it would just make it worse. So I got into the car and just . . . I just haven’t—”
“He doesn’t know why you said no? Oh Jenny. You have to talk to him. The guy is in pain.”
“I know!” She covered her face with her hands. “I don’t know what to say.”
“What are you so afraid of?”
“I don’t know.”
“He loves you, right?”
“Yes. And I love him. I don’t want him to give up his dreams for me.”
“Even if it means breaking his heart?”
“It’s the best thing for him. In fact . . .” She finally looked up. “I think I should probably quit the team.”
Scarlett pursed her lips, then nodded. “I get that. But quitting isn’t going to make this hurt less, for either of you. You need to talk to him.”
“He’ll just . . . he’ll look at me with those beautiful eyes, and I’ll lose my head, and suddenly we’ll be at some wedding chapel heading for disaster.”
“Or a happy ending.”
Jenny looked away. “I think the best thing for me to do is hop on a plane for Minnesota and put us all out of our misery.”
Scarlett said nothing.
Jenny got up, went over to her closet, and pulled out her suitcase, putting it on the bed.
“Wait—what, now?”
“I’ll go to the airport. Sometimes Spirit has these red-eye tickets you can buy at the counter—”
“Jenny, c’mon—” Scarlett had gotten up, but Jenny had already wound her dress into a ball, thrown it into the bottom of the carry-on along with her shoes.
Jenny went over to the drawers, pulled out her workout and training clothes, and gathered them into her arms.
“Don’t run, Jenny. Give Orion a chance to fix this. You don’t know what he’ll do if you don’t give him a chance.”
She dumped the clothing into the suitcase.
Stared at the mess.
She was running. Her classic move, and one she’d perfected on Orion so many years earlier. She was past this. He did deserve an explanation. And maybe, just maybe, they had a chance to fix this.
“Okay. Yes. I’ll talk to him in the morning.”
“Good girl,” Scarlett said. “After ice cream.”
Jenny smiled. “And pizza.”
A knock sounded at the door. Jenny headed to answer it. Yes, a pizza would help her think more clearly.
Or maybe not, because as she opened the door, her heart simply stopped.
Not room service with a deep-dish pepperoni.
Orion stood in the hallway, his eyes fierce in hers, his hair a little disheveled as if he’d been running frustrated hands through it.
Her mouth opened, but she had nothing.
Apparently, neither did he, because he stared at her, then glanced past her, to the bed, and frowned. Looked back at her.
She didn’t think it was possible to hurt him more, but real pain edged his eyes. “Of course you’re leaving. Without telling anyone.” He shook his head, swallowed. “Maybe you should turn your phone back on.”
Right. She’d turned it off before the event. But she didn’t have a chance to explain because he continued, almost without a breath. “Before you vanish, Ham is calling a quick emergency meeting. Maybe you could stick around long enough to keep your commitment to him.”
Then he turned and headed down the hall.
Signe very rarely allowed Ham to step inside her dreams, roam around, pull up the past, and remind her of the what-ifs. But she was tired, having traveled with an eye over her shoulder for the past thirty-six hours. She’d crossed four borders, ridden on so many train cars she’d lost count, and frankly, she just didn’t have the strength to keep him away.
So, yes, she let Ham walk into her dreams, behind her closed eyes as she leaned her head on the window of the Paris Métro, the C line looping up along the Seine toward the safe house just across from the Eiffel Tower.
Where she might actually get some sleep and untangle the questions in her brain, like, how had they found her, this rogue group who wanted the NOC list?
But not right now.
Right now she wanted to climb on the back of Ham’s Kawasaki 650, her hands around his waist as he drove them up dirt roads, the moon rising above the farmland, the scent of autumn thick in the night air.
He smelled like the fresh shower he’d taken after the game. She’d waited for him until he came out of the locker room—not a groupie, thank you, but his best friend.
And more. Oh, she wanted more. But he hadn’t given her even the slightest hint that tucking herself close to him had any effect.
But she could hardly breathe around him, especially since he donned football pads three years ago and started playing quarterback.
Now, with the senior homecoming dance just a week away, she was holding her breath for . . .
Except, what if they destroyed this thing they had? This easy, fun camaraderie?
What if she became one of the many girls who traced Ham’s name into their notebook, wishing?
So she leaned back and put her hands on his shoulders and let the wind take her hair as he turned them toward their farms.
She noticed, however, that he didn’t turn in at her driveway. Or at his. He drove them up the dirt road that ran behind their properties, up the hill, and stopped at a balding rock that overlooked the Mississippi.
“The sky is so clear, I thought . . . well, I have to talk to you.”
He reached out and took her hand. A familiar gesture, but it sent a warmth through her that had nothing to do with friendship. They climbed up on the rock and he let her hand go, lay back, his arms behind his head.
Okay. She did the same, the chill of the rock seeping through her volleyball letter jacket and finding her bones. Overhead the spray of stars cast a trail through the dark night sky, winking down at them. In the distance, the river glittered with the lights from shoreline homes. The wind shuffled the dry maple and oak leaves, casting them down.
“My stepmother wants to send me to military school.”
Every bone in her body froze. “What?”
“Yeah. She’s convinced that I’m a bad influence on Kelsey, so she wants to send me away—”
“Kelsey is seven years old. And you’re the best big brother she could ever have.”
Ham said nothing, took a breath. “Trisha hates me. I don’t know why, but she’s convinced my father that I need to leave.”
She couldn’t breathe, an anvil on her chest. “You remind her that your father loved someone else.”
“He married her because of me,” Ham said. “Said I needed a mom.”
She reached out and wove her fingers through his again. Squeezed. She’d feared someday it would come to this. Ham’s father had married the woman, a widow, less than a year after Ham’s mother had died. They’d had baby Kelsey almost nine months later, to the day. Signe was old enough to figure out the math on that one.
Trisha had made Ham’s life a dark place every day since she’d walked into it. Maybe it was best for him to leave.
Except, it would scoop a chunk out of her soul.
“Can you talk to your dad?” She rolled over, propping her head on her hand. “You only have six months left of school . . . and now you’re a big football star.” She poked his shoulder.
He grinned at that. “Two touchdowns tonight. I wish my dad had been here to see it.”
“Me too.” He looked at her and she made a face. “His choices are not your fault.”
“Feels like it. Feels like I did something—”
“Ham.” She touched his face, moved it to meet her gaze. Let go. “You didn’t do anything. She’s just . . . I don’t know. Like my grandmother.”
“Broken?”
“I was going to say mean.”
He laughed, then his grin faded. “I don’t want to leave you, Sig.”
Oh. Her breath caught, his words vising her chest. He too rolled over to one side, facing her. “You’re my best friend.”
Right. Yes.
But he kept looking at her, those blue eyes holding hers, and she couldn’t look away.
He seemed to consider her a moment, then swallowed, and lay back.
She hated the way her heart pounded in her ears, the deep sweep of disappointment.
Friends. Yep. The best kind of friends.
“Sometimes when I look at the stars, I think of my mom, staring down, watching me.”
She stared at the stars. “You think she sees you?”
“I don’t know. I hope so.”
The wind stirred around them. An owl hooted.
“It sure makes you feel small, doesn’t it? All those stars. All the worlds,” she said quietly.
“God says that he knows all the stars by name. And if he knows the stars, he knows us too.”
She liked that about Ham—the fact that even after his mother’s death, he didn’t hate God. In fact, she sort of needed that from him . . . a faith big enough for both of them. It made her feel like God might care about her too.
“Ham. If you leave, promise not to forget me?”
“What?” He sat up, looked at her. “Forget you? Signe, you’re like . . . you’re . . .” He stared at her, and she sat up too.
Then his gaze was tracing her face, a vulnerability in it that swept her breath from her chest.
“Signe, I’m in love with you.” He touched her face with his big quarterback hand.
Her eyes widened, and she was nodding even as he wound his hand behind her neck. She might have even leaped into his arms as he drew her close and kissed her.
Her first kiss. And oh, it was magic. It lit her entire body on fire, moved her heart off its axis and tilted her world. She didn’t want to ask, but she guessed it might be his first kiss too. He kissed her with a tenderness that only made her yearn for more.
In fact, she could never have enough of Hamilton Jones.
She made a soft noise, and he moved closer to her, tugging at her jacket.
Tugging—
Her eyes shot open and she wasn’t in Ham’s arms, but on a metro—yes, of course—and someone was quietly trying to remove her backpack from her possession.
She looked up at a young man with dark hair, dressed in a hoodie and skinny jeans, who clearly didn’t expect her to wake up.
Or to bounce to her feet. “Back off!”
He looked over his shoulder, and that’s when she realized the compartment was empty.
Who knew how long she’d slept?
He cocked his head, grinned at her, and she took a breath.
Fine. “Don’t do it, pal,” she said quietly, in French.
He narrowed his eyes at her.
She glanced at the metro schedule. Forty-seven seconds to station.
“I’m serious,” she said just as he took a swing at her.
Really? She moved fast, pivoted, her left arm up to block. His fist whizzed by her.
She grabbed his arm and sent her right fist into the side of his head.
Bam.
He hit the deck.
“Stay down!”
The kid jumped to his feet. She glanced at the clock. Thirty-eight seconds to station.
“Dude, I don’t want to hurt you.” She spoke in English now, just in case he didn’t understand her the first time.
His hood had fallen back and his long hair flung into his face.
Then he said something, a crisp French reply that told her he wasn’t so keen on being taken down by a woman.
Well, get used to it. She hadn’t spent ten years in a terrorist training camp not learning how to defend herself.
“Last warning.”
He launched at her. She pivoted and shot the blade of her foot in his face.
His head snapped back and he howled, holding his nose.
Yeah, that was broken.
She looked around for a camera, saw nothing, but kept her head down as she picked up her pack and headed for the back entrance.
Hoodie was still shouting when they pulled into the station. She got off and didn’t look back.
Outside, the night was lit up with the fanfare of Paris. She’d emerged just north of her destination, on the far side of Eiffel Park.
Her memory ticked off a twenty-four-hour internet cafe not far from here, on the way to her rented studio.
Last time she’d been in Paris, she’d stayed in style at the InterContinental le Grand, just a few blocks from the Louvre in a suite that could house a small army.
Pavel had nearly imprisoned her inside, but she’d managed to get out and see Notre Dame with Aggie. One of the first times she’d nearly run, disappeared.
Returned to Ham.
She’d used the escape to check in with her then handler, Sophia Randall.
Now she found the cafe open.
A few patrons were at cubicles, checking email.
She checked out a computer and sat down.
Paused.
Maybe she should still run. Hide.
Returning to Ham wasn’t an option. Especially since she didn’t know exactly how her cover had been blown, how Martin had found her. She feared it might be through her cell phone contact.
Yes, it had been foolish—and maybe desperate—to give a phone to her daughter. But she just couldn’t . . .
“Promise not to forget me.”
She’d clearly been weak.
Yes. Maybe she should just run, take the NOC list with her and disappear.
Except, as long as she had it, Aggie was in danger.
Especially if she was correct about who had leaked it out of CIA hands.
But delivering it into the wrong hands could cost them all their lives.
So she booted up the computer, then logged on to her encrypted email storage.
One email waited. She took a breath, opened it.
From Roy.
It gave a new date, time, and place.
Catania, Italy.
Three days from now.
High noon.
She deleted the email. After the last fiasco, she’d be better prepared.
And then, after she passed off the list, she’d vanish.
She logged out and closed the computer.
Headed out into the night for the walk to her one-room safe house.
Overhead, the Eiffel Tower glittered, bright against the night sky.
I’m sorry, Ham. It’s time to forget me.