“One night, she started the hot water for the kids’ bath and passed out. When Michael jumped into the full tub, it was scalding water.” His breath grew ragged, each word forced as if he had to punch them free. “He had burns on eighty percent of his body. My sister was so out of it, she didn’t even wake up. My niece pulled her brother onto the bathroom floor and called 9-1-1.”
The image he painted, the horror of what had happened to his family, she couldn’t wrap her mind around it. The silence roared with the crashing waves and a pain inside Jose so tangible she could swear she heard the rage inside him.
“Oh my God, Jose. I can’t even imagine…” Some-times there just were no words. “Your nephew…?”
“He survived, barely.” His voice went raw, his fist so tight on the coin a trickle of blood seeped out. “But he still has scars.”
She stroked his hand, carefully prying his fingers open. “It sounds like you all carry scars of some sort from that day.”
“In the darker days, I can’t stop thinking if I’d helped Bianca that wouldn’t have happened.”
“You also know your sister would have hit rock bottom another time, another way.” She thumbed off the blood on his palm and kissed the tiny wound, a symbol of one so much bigger inside him that had never healed. “And what about your mother? Was she alive then too?”
“She’d died a couple of months before, but she would have only been a drinking buddy. Hell, so would I.” He set the coin on the bedside table by the elephant lamp. “Once we knew that Michael was going to live, I went to my commander and told him I needed to go to rehab.”
“And you’ve been sober every day since.”
He nodded, his fingers closing around hers. He turned to face her full-on for the first time since he’d started talking about his sister. His brown eyes darkened with intensity. “But I can’t do it, Stella. I can’t have children. I won’t.” His voice rang with conviction. “I know I would never be abusive, but damn it all, look at what neglect can do? I can’t risk a family, Stella. I just can’t.”
She did the only thing she could. She wrapped her arms around him and held him, stroking his hair until he stopped shaking. She loved him so damn much, but she felt her dream dying in that moment. Saying good-bye was only a formality. He didn’t want marriage. Didn’t want a family. Wasn’t ready to share in the things that meant so much to her.
She understood now. When he left Africa, he would be leaving her for good…
***
Stella traced circles on the windowpane overlooking the Mogadishu International Airport, the past and present wrapping around her as tightly as the wrap Jose had bought her a month ago in Kenya, the weekend they’d broken up.
After he told her about his nephew’s tragic accident, they’d gone through the motions of finishing out their weekend together. They’d even made love. They’d almost made it back to their quarters before an argument broke out. They’d quarreled over something silly and inconsequential. She couldn’t even remember exactly what now, other than it had to do with directions and getting lost for five minutes.
They’d fought, snapping out hurtful words as if that would somehow make it easier to say good-bye. Yet, here they were again, right back in the same painful place with her cocooned in the same wrap, having even fewer answers than before.
Her cell phone vibrated on the bedside table.
She reached behind her quickly, not wanting the sound to wake Jose. Only numbers flashed on the screen, numbers that were code for Agent Smith. Thumbing the on button, she shot to her feet, her legs tangling in the trailing fabric as she made her way to the bathroom.
“Yes?”
“We need you to report back, now,” Mr. Smith said with a tense edge that sent a bolt of fear straight through her. This man never lost his cool. Never. “Sutton Harper committed suicide in his holding cell…”
“What? Repeat that, please?” Shock iced through her—and surprise. She’d been trained to look for signs and Sutton had seemed more the type who would shout his ideology from a jail cell for years to come…
“Harper cut the femoral artery in his thigh. He bled out before anyone noticed.”
An injury like that would kill in about five minutes. Her head reeled with the image as she grappled with the need to make sense…
“Carson, we’ll deal with the ramification of that later. There’s more. Top priority and the primary reason for my call? The list is on the move. We have less than twelve hours to stop the transfer and find those responsible so this kind of leak doesn’t happen again. I repeat…”
“Got it. I’m on my way.” She disconnected, forcing her training to assume control, an icy focus sliding into place.
They had a lead—and twelve hours to stop the exposure of American agents across Africa and the Middle East. Twelve hours to catch those responsible in the act so every agent wasn’t compromised. Twelve hours to protect an intelligence network decades in the making—a network that had somehow failed her mother. Stella pushed that thought aside as she slid back into the hotel room, trying to decide whether to wake Jose or leave him a note.
Moot point. He already sat on the edge of the bed, his phone at his ear and from the narrowed look in his eyes, he’d just gotten the same recall.
Chapter 14
Déjà vu swelled over Annie in waves, as potently and vaguely nauseating as the scent of jet fuel in the back of the cargo craft. She’d ridden in countless military transports during her days as a field operative, slipping in and out of countries. Once she’d gone undercover, people hadn’t suspected the motherly looking aid worker.
At least not at first.