Her shoulders went tense again and she turned slowly, scanning until her eyes landed on him.
“I’m fine.” She wrapped her arms tighter around her waist, the long red cloth hooking on her elbows.
He might not be able to fix whatever had messed with her head, but he could damn well monitor for any medical concerns. He looked into her eyes, checked her pupils, took her wrist, and counted her pulse. And even as he did his job he also couldn’t stop thinking like the man who cared about her, the man who didn’t want to play games. The man who’d loved her.
Still loved her?
He counted her racing pulse. “Did a doctor check you over when you changed clothes?”
“I don’t need one.” She eased her wrist from his hold. “You already cleared me.”
Damn it. He should have guessed as much. “I’m not a doctor.”
“You could be.”
He folded his hands over his chest. “Stella…”
She put her fingers on his mouth. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to travel old scripts.”
Fair enough. He didn’t want to waste time arguing with her either. He palmed her waist and guided her into a private corner behind the wall of crates, away from listening ears and prying eyes. The shadowy corner behind the pallet of wooden boxes created the bubble of solitude he needed to finally talk to her alone.
“Is the boy settled?” he asked. “Did you learn anything?”
“Agents Smith and Brown are still talking with him. We simply played it that they wanted me there to verify what a hostage would have seen.” She sagged back against the metal wall, exhaustion stamping dark circles under her eyes. “For now, the kid’s story sounds like I would expect to hear. Orphaned in a civil conflict. Kidnapped by a clan militia force. So totally innocent it’s guaranteed to break your heart.”
“You don’t believe him?”
She chewed her bottom lip for a long second before answering, “I don’t know. His story sounds too practiced. Too stock. He’s going to have to offer us something more before I can believe he wasn’t responsible for his actions at the compound. People died, a truly innocent student and a damn good agent.”
The thought of how that could have been her nearly drove him to his knees. He flattened his hand on warm metal to keep from punching the wall, which would only draw attention to them when he finally had her completely alone for the first time since they’d escaped that compound. “Can you tell me what the hell was going on there?”
“Investigating different warlords, following the path of the stolen pirate stash.” She held the cloth tighter around her waist. “Sometimes it feels like we’re putting out fires without ever having access to the source.”
“Maybe it’s time for you to pack it in.”
She frowned, staring back into his eyes. “Are you crazy? You of all people should understand dedication to the job.”
She had a point. So where the hell had his comment come from? From his deeper frustration that had nothing to do with logic, the gut-twisting burn of knowing she could have died. Living without her was tough enough, but at least he’d been able to envision her alive, walking the same planet as him.
The dam broke on the wall he’d built to hold back all that fear so he could get the job done, get her out of there.
“Stella, why are you still here? Really? I don’t care if your job gives you superhero status too, but someone should be looking out for you.”
“I can take care of myself.”
But she shouldn’t have to, not all the time. The real question detonated inside him, the one that had been eating him up inside since he’d first stepped into this airplane hangar and saw surveillance images of her on those screens.
He gripped her by the shoulders. “What were you doing inside that compound where you could have f**king been murdered?”
Her brows shot upward, her chest rising and falling faster and faster. She looked away fast, her eyes darting. Avoiding? He didn’t have to be a body language expert to know she was working on what to say, crafting her words.
Finally, she looked at him full-on and blurted, “I came here to find answers about how my mother died.”
There was no denying the hoarse honesty in her whisper. He processed the words with the notion that he’d thought he knew everything about her. God knows he’d shared his secrets with her. He’d assumed she had done the same.
“I thought your mom was an aid worker killed in a car accident.” He recalled everything Stella had told him, how Melanie Carson had spent half of every year in Africa dispensing aid in villages. “In this region, right?”
She nodded. “That’s what we were told, but I think the car accident story was just to cover her injuries so we wouldn’t question why her body was beaten up.”