Khartoum, Sudan
In her dream, Rachel heard a phone ring. Her mobile. She recognized the ringtone. It was the one she used for Levi.
The café around her was packed with tourists. Across the street, St. Peter’s Square thronged with bodies under the blazing Roman sun.
She knew this place. This was where he—
Her phone rang again and she snatched it up and cupped her hand over the mouthpiece.
“Hello?” Her voice sounded breathy, scared.
“Rachel, why are you there?” His voice.
This is a dream.
But the scene was so real. She remembered the lady in a bright red floppy hat walking by like it was yesterday. But her name wasn’t Rachel on the op, and Levi was supposed to be with her, not calling her on the phone.
“Where are you?” she whispered into the phone.
He hung up.
“Wait.”
But he was gone.
The dead phone felt heavy in her hand. Outside the open window, the tourists laughed, holding hands, calling to children.
It was the height of summer, she remembered, a hot summer. The smell of hot pavement and melted ice cream, the wail of a child, the lady in the red hat—
The phone rang again. She stabbed at the screen to silence it.
Rachel startled awake in a dark room, heart racing, throat dry, chest heaving.
Was she really awake now? She pinched the tender skin on the inside of her arm.
The other side of the bed shifted with the weight of a body, and she remembered where she was.
JP’s bed, for the third night in a row.
A wave of conflicting emotions washed over her. The deep ache of muscles unused to lovemaking, the guilt surfacing in her brain, the survival instinct of being deep undercover where forgetting who you were for even a second might be the difference between living and dying.
But JP didn’t seem to notice her outburst. It was his phone she’d heard. He was sitting on the edge of the bed, his head in his hands, a mobile phone pressed to his ear.
“Now?” he said, his voice still groggy. “We just met a few days ago. What’s happened?”
There was a long pause as he listened. Rachel closed her eyes and strained her hearing, but all she could make out was the sound of a man’s voice on the other end. Rough, agitated, throaty.
“Where?” A pause. “I’ll be there in the morning.”
He ended the call and threw the phone across the room. He leaped out of bed and paced in the darkness, cursing to himself in one long continuous stream.
“Is everything okay?” Rachel asked.
JP stopped suddenly, as if he had forgotten she was there. He came back to bed and sat close to her.
“It’s okay. Just a setback, nothing more.”
He grazed his fingers over her naked breast, and she felt her skin prickle with anticipation. She hated herself and reveled in the feeling, like wanting to giggle and weep at the same time. He nuzzled her neck, licking the spot behind her ear. Rachel let out a little sigh.
JP pulled back. “We need to go. Right now. Get the car and call the pilot. Tell him I want to be wheels up as soon as we can get there.”
“Where are we going?”
JP switched on the bathroom light; his form was silhouetted in the brightness, forcing Rachel to squint her eyes.
“Alexandria first, then … I’m not sure yet.”
He started to shut the bathroom door, then turned back. “You called out in your sleep. A man’s name, I think.”
Rachel used the bright light to squint her eyes closed, covering the shock she felt. JP walked back to the bed. Rachel forced herself to appear calm while at the same time scanning the room for potential weapons.
At the edge of the bed, he reached for her. She did not flinch. He cupped her cheek with his hand. “A lover?”
Rachel lowered her gaze. The lamp on the nightstand had a sturdy cast-iron base, a good weapon. “A real lady doesn’t talk about her past.”
“Is it over?”
“A long time ago. For good.”
JP turned back to the light. “I’m glad to hear it.”