“Corazón shot him.”
“We’ve been able to piece that together.” Razor pulled up a chair and sat. “We have plenty of time for a hotwash later.”
“What happens now?”
“We wait for Onyx’s condition to stabilize enough that he can be transported back to the States.”
“Can I see him?”
Razor shook his head. “Not yet, but I heard a rumor that Tackle may be able to mobilize sooner than you.”
A few days later, we were released to return to America. Onyx was being transported to George Washington University Hospital in DC. I’d need to see a doctor stateside for a follow-up, so would Tackle, but as it stood now, neither of us would need to be admitted unless we developed complications.
“I’m going to tell as many people as I can that I love them,” I said to Tackle, who was in the seat next to me on the flight home.
He nodded. “Me too.”
“Even my extended family. My aunts and uncles will all think I’m nuts, but I don’t give a shit.”
“Huge wake-up call,” Tackle muttered.
“Can I ask you something?”
“Shoot.”
“You ever think about settling down, getting married, having kids?”
“I didn’t before.”
“It’s different now, right?”
He nodded. “Is there anyone you’ve been, you know, seeing?”
His question stunned me. If I had been, he sure as hell would’ve known about it. “Negative. What about you?”
“There’s someone.”
“There is?” And I didn’t know about her? I was even more stunned. “Who is she?”
“That isn’t important right now. If or when that changes, I’ll let you know.”
What the fuck? “Seriously?”
“She might not feel the same way I do.”
“Is it someone I know?”
Tackle shook his head, but he was lying. Who could it be that he didn’t want to tell me? There was no one I could think of.
I rested my head against the back of the seat. What about me? I hadn’t been on many dates since the kidnapping in Somalia. The few I had, left me feeling less connected rather than more. Consequently, there hadn’t been many second dates, and fewer, if any, thirds.
I was thirty-two years old, with a career that kept me traveling the globe, living in a place where people who worked for the agency made up the bulk of the population. How in the hell would I ever meet someone I could spend enough time with to even get to know, let alone share a life with?
Like I said to Tackle, I felt different now, coming as close to death as we had. I wanted my life to have purpose, meaning, not just in my job, but outside of it too.
If I thought about the men and women I worked with at K19, most of them were involved with other agents or, in Razor’s case, someone whose detail he covered. Since the only detail I’d done recently was for my boss’ ex-girlfriend, that wasn’t exactly a hotbed of possibilities either. Online dating? With what I did? No way. Not even an option.
The question I’d asked Tackle—whether he’d ever thought about settling down, getting married, having kids—was something I’d been thinking about since the morning I woke up, stunned that I was still alive.