144
Marcus awoke in a private room.
He had no idea how long he’d been under. But when a nurse came in to check on him, she informed him that he’d undergone surgery and been given several blood transfusions and that it had been Annie—type O—who’d donated it.
“That girl—” she smiled—“she’s a keeper, she is. Your wife?”
Marcus didn’t have the energy to tell the woman they weren’t married, and after checking his vitals, she was gone anyway. Soon, however, his mom stepped into the room. She had bandages on her face and arms but quickly assured him that she was fine and would be as good as new before long.
“I’m sorry, Mom.”
“My goodness, for what?”
“Not calling you back. For being so busy.”
“Well, you lived—and saved all our lives—so I guess I’ll forgive you this time.” She smiled. “But don’t let it happen again, young man.”
“How’s Mrs. Garcia?” he asked.
“Better than you.”
“Really?”
“Really—Annie saved her life.”
“Are you serious?”
“Louisa wouldn’t have made it without that girl.”
“I’m not sure I would have either.”
For once, his mom didn’t comment. Instead, she kissed him on the forehead, told him to rest, and said she’d check back on him in a few hours.
When she left, the door didn’t close entirely. Marcus could see a DSS agent standing in the hallway. He could also hear voices and realized they belonged to Javier, Maya, and Annie.
“I don’t know how I can ever repay you, Miss Stewart,” he heard Mr. Garcia say. “My Louisa would never have made it without you. I cannot thank you enough.”
“I’m so glad she’s making such a fast recovery, Mr. Garcia,” he heard Annie reply. “And you too. How are you feeling?”
“Still a little shaky. But I’ll be fine.”
“Good. And your girls? Are they here yet?”
“Soon.”
Marcus heard a phone ring. He knew that ring. It was Annie’s satphone.
“Excuse me, Mr. Garcia. It’s the White House. I need to take this.”
“Do what you have to do, young lady. I just wanted to come over and say thank you.”
“You’re most welcome, sir. God bless you.”
“And you, Miss Stewart.”
It was quiet for a bit. Marcus tried to sit up but was in too much pain. He strained to hear more over the hum of the emergency wing and the still-incoming ambulances. Pulling back the sheet covering him, he could now see all the gauze and bandages and medical tape covering the right side of his stomach near his hip. He realized, too, that he was hooked up to an IV and to a range of monitors.
Laying his head back on the pillow, he now heard Mr. Garcia’s voice again. “Maya, who is that exactly?”
“Who, honey?” Maya asked in her distinctive Southern drawl.
“Miss Stewart.”
“Annie? Why she’s the new deputy director of the CIA, not to mention one of my dearest friends.”
“But how does she know Marcus?” he asked. “They seem, I don’t know, close.”
Marcus tensed.
“You really don’t know?” Maya asked.
“Know what?”
“Marj hasn’t told you?”
“Told me what?”
“Maybe we should talk about this later.”
“No, tell me now,” Mr. Garcia insisted.
“Well, Javier, it’s like this,” Maya said. “Yes, they’re close. That young lady is dating Marcus.”
There was a long, uncomfortable pause.
“Dating him?”
“Yep. I didn’t know you weren’t aware.”
“No,” he said, almost inaudibly. “No one told me.”
Then it was quiet again, until Mr. Garcia walked into the room.
“Marcus, is it true?” he asked.
“Is what true, Mr. Garcia?” Marcus asked, trying to buy some time as he had no idea how best to respond.
This was, after all, a man who hadn’t spoken with him in years. Had banned his family from all contact with Marcus after the deaths of Elena and Lars. And now . . .
“Are you and Miss Stewart . . . ?” he asked, his voice trailing off. “Are you . . . seeing each other?”
“Yes, sir.”
There was another awkward silence.
“Just recently,” Marcus added. “But yes, sir. We are.”
The man stood still in the center of the room. He turned and looked out the window. Then turned back and looked Marcus in the eye.
“That’s good,” he said, tears welling up in bloodshot eyes. “She’s remarkable. And . . . and I want you to be happy.”
The man was fighting to control his emotions.
“You deserve to be happy, Marcus. You’re a good man. And it was not your fault. It was not your fault. . . .”
The man’s hands shot to his face as he dissolved into tears. Then he left the room as quickly as he came.
Marcus lay in silence for several minutes. It wasn’t his fault. It wasn’t. He’d done everything to protect the man’s daughter and his only grandson. Now Mr. Garcia knew it too. He really knew. And Marcus could finally rest.