Puget Sound, Washington
As the days flowed following Evan’s funeral, Tate found she was unable to fill the void in her life. She was certain the world went on around her just as it had before. But the longing to be with Evan again—just one more time—never left.
Finding it too painful to go back to the life she’d known in Bahrain, she chose to remain stateside. Well-meaning friends tried to assure her the passage of time would lessen her pain and cautioned against making rash, life-altering decisions. But Tate knew this particular decision had been a long time coming.
Since Kandahar.
For the sake of those closest to her—especially her parents—she tried. Mostly she avoided people. And when she couldn’t avoid, she put on a brave front.
Alex understood. And although he was struggling with his own grief, it was Alex and his partner Nick who finally saved her. Three weeks after the funeral, as dawn was breaking over the city, she awoke to find Alex at the door of her DC hotel room.
“How’d you find me?”
Alex shrugged. “You’re registered under your own name, and I’m persistent. Jesus, look at you—you’re skinny and pale. Why are you hiding, Tate?”
“I don’t know what else to do.” Her throat tightened and bittersweet tears choked her voice. “I’m sorry. I’m not really good company. It’s just that sometimes I swear—”
“You swear what?”
“Sometimes I swear I’ve seen Evan.” Tate felt foolish. “In a passing car. Or on the street…or in a crowd.”
Alex didn’t say anything. He just watched her with smoky gray eyes so like his sister’s and appeared to understand.
“I start to call out. But she’s never there, of course.”
Alex closed his eyes. “I miss her too. Most days I feel like I’ve lost part of myself, like half my soul is missing, and yet I don’t feel like she’s really gone. Does that even make sense?”
“Come home with us, Tate,” Alex said, “with me and Nick. I think Evan would have liked it, and maybe between the three of us, we can figure it out.”
She’d stayed with Alex and Nick until she felt strong enough to be on her own. And until Alex felt strong enough to let her go. They then helped her find a place of her own, barely a mile away as it turned out. A beautiful house with soul-soothing views of Puget Sound and the Olympic Mountains.
Work helped. She began writing again, mostly articles providing insights into American foreign policy. She was also writing the book she’d been working on forever. Now seemed as good a time as any to see if she could finish it. But at the end of each day and long into each night, there was no escaping reality. She knew she had to find a way to move on. But she would have to stop thinking about Evan first, and to do that, she would have to stop breathing.
Releasing a soft sigh, Tate pushed away from her laptop, deciding to call it a day. She poured a glass of wine and on her way through to the deck for what had become a daily ritual, she paused to turn up the volume on the music softly playing in the background.
As the sultry Latin rhythms of the Buena Vista Social Club came through the speakers, she felt her throat tighten. The music evoked a memory of a long forgotten afternoon and Evan trying to teach her some intricate dance steps in her tiny flat in Bahrain.
God, Evan, I miss you.
As the day waned, Tate sat on the end of the deck, legs hanging over the edge looking out at the water while, overhead, the gulls wheeled and cried.
The scent of rain hung in the air, but she didn’t mind. She was enjoying both the wine and the tranquility of the late afternoon when the stillness was disturbed by the recognizable beat of a helicopter. She watched as the aircraft drew near, hovered momentarily, and then much to her annoyance, it set down in the vacant field across the road from her home.
Son of a bitch, that’s private property. My private property.
She got up and started to walk over, intent on giving the errant pilot a piece of her mind when she froze. Stared in disbelief as Althea Kane stepped down, ducking under the still rotating blades before straightening and walking toward her.
“Tate, I hope you don’t mind my dropping by unannounced, but I need a private word with you. I thought this might be the simplest way, rather than dragging you to DC.”
Tate nodded and tried to control the conflicting surge of surprise and concern. Without another word, she led the way to her house, her nerves brittle enough to snap.
*
“It’s Evan. She’s alive.”
The instant the words were spoken, Tate’s world shifted on its axis. She forgot how to breathe. Hope bloomed, tentative, in the remains of her shattered heart. And if Althea said anything else in the moments that followed, her words failed to register.
If it had been anyone else, Tate would have said this was a cruel hoax. But this wasn’t just anybody speaking to her, and she couldn’t contain the flicker of hope that once again coursed through her body and awakened her soul.
This was Althea Kane. The secretary of state. Evan’s mother.
And Tate desperately wanted to believe her.
She crossed her arms and finally looked at Althea. Was it possible? What was she supposed to say? How was she supposed to respond?
Althea appeared not to notice her dilemma. Instead, she reached into her bag and pulled out a disc, which she swiftly thrust into Tate’s hands. “Six days ago, a video was delivered to a CIA outpost near Kandahar,” she said in a curiously flat voice. “It came through a regular contact.”
“And—?”
“An insurgent cell has proposed a prisoner exchange. They’ve identified eight detainees awaiting transfer to an American facility. They want them released and, in return, have offered to return two US pilots.”
Tate licked her lips and cleared her throat, but couldn’t find a way to ask.
Thankfully, Althea did not seem to require the question. “There are only two missing American pilots,” she said softly. “Evan and her wingman, Lieutenant Deacon Walker.”
Tate pressed her lips together as her fingers tightened around the disc. “What’s on the disc?”
“Proof of life.”
Tate walked toward her laptop, still open on the table by the scattered files where she’d been working earlier. Althea wouldn’t be here if the information hadn’t been vetted through unimpeachable channels. She wouldn’t be sharing the disc if she didn’t somehow believe it provided absolute proof her daughter was still alive.
“Tate?”
She turned at the sound of Althea’s voice, hearing her despite the constant waves of grief and hope breaking over her as her head spun in wonder. Althea had handed her a reprieve. A second chance. Already, she could feel her world begin to right itself.
Because if Evan was alive, she would move heaven and earth to bring her home. And then she was never letting her go.
Tate slipped the disc into the drive, entered a couple of quick keystrokes, and stepped back. She crossed her arms, fingers gripping her elbows as if to hold herself together. And with her jaw tightly clenched, she watched the screen flicker to life.
The image was grainy, the lighting dim. As her eyes adjusted to the jerking motion of obviously handheld equipment, the camera zoomed in, focusing first on a young man—maybe in his late twenties or early thirties—with shaggy dark blond hair and old haunted eyes. He was wearing a flight suit and was seated stiffly in a wooden chair, his arms tightly bound in front of him. Was this Deacon Walker?
The camera paused, lingered, and then panned slowly to the right.
A woman sat slumped in a wooden chair, her chin resting on her chest. Dark hair shrouded her face, rendering it all but invisible.
It could be Evan. At least it was a possibility Tate couldn’t disregard, even though she still couldn’t wrap her mind around it. But then again, the grainy image scrolling across the screen could be that of any dark-haired woman.
The image shook as a hand came into view, grasping the woman’s head by the hair and pulling it upright, revealing her face. The camera zoomed in and Tate couldn’t control the rush of anger. Rage. Helpless fury.
Evan.
Her name reverberated in her mind. Not a figment of her imagination. Not a ghost from the past or a manifestation of her dreams. Bruised. Gaunt. Obviously ill, her eyes unfocused and glazed.
But very much alive.
Unable to look away from the image on the monitor, Tate could see the cuts and bruises marring her beautiful face. Her eyes fixed on one particularly ugly bruise before finally noting the newspaper held in her tightly bound hands. She looked up at Althea, once again silently asking questions.
“It’s the front page of the New York Times. It’s dated seven days ago.” Tate felt Althea sigh before she spoke again, her voice a whisper of pain and sorrow. “Did Evan ever tell you I once offered to meet with the Secretary of the Navy on her behalf? I told her I could get her out of her remaining service commitment. Do you know what she said?”
Tate shook her head.
“She told me I had always been myopically focused on my career to the exclusion of everything else, including my children, and she didn’t expect or need me to change and jeopardize anything on her behalf at this late stage in the game. She wasn’t a child—hadn’t been one for quite some time, in case it had escaped my notice—and she didn’t need me to protect her.”
“I’m sorry.” Tate didn’t know what else to say.
“Don’t be sorry, Evan was right. But that’s not what’s important now.” Althea’s expression seemed sad, almost wistful.
“Tell me how I can help.”
“I know I have no right to ask you to put yourself in danger. And yet that’s exactly what I’m here to do. I’d like you to go to Afghanistan. To be there during the exchange.”
Tate was too shocked to do anything more than stand there and stare. Her throat tightened and her breath stalled in her chest. “The exchange will be a military operation. They won’t allow—”
Althea smiled wearily. “Believe it or not, Tate, I do have influence. Your presence has already been approved and transport to Afghanistan has already been arranged. You just have to say yes.”
“Yes.”
The rain that had been threatening all day finally started to fall, and as drops splattered against the window, Tate peered sightlessly into the thin mist. She could hear the mournful sound of the ferry horn in the distance. And for the first time, the horror and pain of losing Evan began to recede. “So what do you need me to do to make this happen? What’s our plan to bring Evan home?”