So her sister was running around sans bra and nobody would have guessed it? Figured Little Miss Perfect would have perky breasts, too.
Illogical laughter tickled. "No Band-Aids for you, huh, kid?"
"What?"
"Nothing."
Awkward silence blanketed the stale air between them, minimal noise outside, a truck, the low hum of airplane engines just prior to takeoff.
Would Yasmine recognize the sound and question the timing?
A lone voice drifted down the hall through an open office door, Crusty patching through his nightly call home to his family. Hopefully that would distract Yasmine from the other echoes. His dry laugh, jokes about the crummy food and questions to his wife about Trey's asthma, Austin's training wheels, everyday family concerns seemed so at odds with the distance and stakes of where they were. But if they stopped life, emotions, even happiness every time their country called on them lately, there would never be time to live. A notion that made her feel slightly less guilty for wanting Jack while Sydney was suffering.
What would it be like to have a normal life alongside the high-tension existence of her job? She'd worked hard at her last relationship before Jack. For four years she'd tried with Hunter, a civilian doctor with whom she'd shared much in common. But then he'd demanded she choose between him and her job that kept them apart. The decision was heartbreakingly easy to make.
"Uh, Monica?"
She blinked clear the foggy memories. "Yes?"
Yasmine nodded toward the gun still raised and aimed. "Could you please put that away now?"
"Oh, of course. Sorry." She reholstered her weapon. Still, Yasmine didn't leave. Monica couldn't bring herself to walk away, either. The swelling rumble of jet engines outside echoed the roaring tension within her. Three hours until Jack landed.
Yasmine nodded toward the open office door. "How sweet that he calls his family. He must be very proud of his sons."
"They're actually Crusty's half brothers. His father and stepmother are dead." Monica watched for Yasmine's reaction, some sign that her sister already knew of Crusty's connection to the assassinated ambassador to Rubistan.
Sympathy furrowed her brow. "Those poor boys. Losing both parents is...difficult...even when you're older. What happened?"
Monica shoved aside the twinge of compassion for Yasmine she couldn't afford. "Auto accident."
Assassination by local terrorists. The Rubistans definitely wanted the heat off them for that one, something that wouldn't happen if they didn't get their underground factions in control. The war on terrorism might be different from any other in history but the Rubistans knew they were skirting dangerous territory with the U.S.
"Do he and his wife have other children? What a full load that would be to take on the two young brothers, as well."
"No. They don't have any other kids." And never would due to his wife's medical condition, but that was more information than Miss Nosey needed. "Why are you so curious?"
"Just making conversation."
Chitchat? Well, hell. If her sister could try, so would she. Besides, she'd lose her mind in the next three hours, anyway, if she didn't stay occupied. For once the pesky little sister in front of her actually posed a welcome disturbance since she needed watching, anyway.
Monica waved a hand. "Follow me."
"Why?"
"I can't help you with the bra situation, but I've got some extra toiletries if you're short."
Her sister's shock almost made Monica laugh— if it wasn't so sad since she and Sydney shared everything.
"Come on," Monica ordered, bossy-big-sister authority coming in handy for once.
Up the stairs and two rooms down, Monica stopped in front of her quarters all the while trying to keep her eyes off Jack's door a few steps farther. Yasmine stood to the side, ill-disguised suspicion stamped on her brow. Monica swung the door open. "Come on in. I'm not going to put green dye in your shampoo."
Yasmine inched inside the room. Monica brushed past to her bag while her baby sister stood in the middle of the room, so still except for the slow move of her head as she looked around the converted office.
Riffling through her stacks of clothes, Monica snagged the empty Ziploc left over from sealing up her conditioner and carried it with her. She stuffed a handful of cotton balls and a tube of cherry Chap Stick inside. Digging for an extra pair of socks, her fingers brushed a box.
Of condoms.