Brennan interrupts our brief derailment. “So, you were saying…”
“I was wondering if we could talk about the last mission… The details are kind of foggy for me.”
For the first time since I’ve been in his presence, he frowns. He curves a hand around the back of his neck and rubs back and forth.
“That was a long time ago, Stone. I don’t really feel like digging up old graves, you know?”
“I know, but whatever happened over there really messed me up. I have severe memory loss. I’m just trying to put the pieces back together.”
His exhale whooshes out. “Damn. I’m sorry, man. I had no idea. They wouldn’t let me see you after. Then you transitioned out, and I couldn’t track you down.” He’s quiet a moment. “Honestly, I wasn’t sure I wanted to.”
You have a lot of blood on your hands.
Jay’s words rattle through me. I take a swig of beer and contemplate leaving.
Instead, I level my gaze to his. “You don’t have to spare my feelings. Just tell me what happened.”
Did I really need to know?
He takes a deep breath and then a long pull off his beer. “Jesus Christ, you’re gonna give me nightmares for a month.” He drags his hand down his face and then nods, as if he’s giving himself a pep talk to even begin.
He doesn’t realize the things I’ve done since are probably far worse than whatever he’s about to reveal.
Rolling his shoulders, he begins. “We were stationed at Camp Dwyer, but we set up an outpost near one of the local towns to keep a closer eye on things. The valley was a shitstorm, especially with the harvest coming up.”
“The opium harvest.”
Fields of red flowers. As far as the eye could see. I blink away the vision and wait for Brennan’s words to fill in the empty space around it.
“Right. Prettiest place in the country. Most dangerous too. The higher-ups, they just wanted us to keep peace with the farmers. Impossible when we’re two steps away from burning their whole fucking opium crop. So the local Taliban’s taking a cut to protect the farmers whether they want it or not. Funds their activities real nice, and of course it’s a good excuse to shoot at us.”
“Right.” I don’t remember being in the thick of it, but I’m familiar with how the local drug trade funds all kinds of extremist organizations. Rio was on the same plan without the religious zealotry.
“Rahul Khan was our man,” he continues.
I roll the name around my head, but it doesn’t hit any pegs.
“Who was he?”
“The local commander. Kingpin, whatever. He’d been gaining a lot of ground in Helmand. That meant we were losing it. Not what we were sent there to do.”
He starts picking at the label on the bottle, and I have a feeling the story is about to get bloodier.
“Then what,” I press.
He exhales. “We came up with a plan. Khan had a drug depot nearby. Taking it out would send a message to the farmers without fucking with their livelihoods, and we’d take back some control. We couldn’t just waltz up to it, of course. So we picked up a tip from a local guy named Javeed.” He shakes his head. “I’ll never forget that fucking name.”
“Why?”
“He’s the one who told us how we could get to the drug depot through the caves and underground tunnels. Drew us a map. Told us exactly when Khan would be vulnerable. Planned the whole damn operation for us.”
“Let me guess. He led us right to trouble.”
“I was your superior. I could have shut it all down. But once we started talking it out, you were dead set on taking this guy down. Everyone was right there with you.” He pauses a beat. “We all agreed you and I would go through the tunnels. It was going to be quick. In and out. Take Khan out, come back, and then see if his people would scatter. We’d reevaluate whether or not to bring any more heat once we got back.”
“Why me?”
“Your Arabic was shit, but that didn’t matter. We weren’t going there to talk. You were a good shot. Almost as good as me. More importantly, all you had to do was look at the map once and you’d be able to get us there and back faster than anyone in the unit.”
I nod. “That makes sense.”
He leans in. “You could remember anything, Stone. Numbers, directions, maps. You never wrote a damn thing down. I can’t believe you don’t remember what happened that day.”
Whatever happened that blighted my memory of that day and everything before it hadn’t changed my inherent abilities—abilities that made me valuable to people like Jay.
“I can’t explain it,” I say. “I wish I could. I guess that’s why I’m here.”
That was the truth.
“We got to the depot just before dawn. Khan was right where Javeed said he’d be. Pop pop. Done. We high-fived and got the fuck out of there before anyone was on to us. It was pitch black in the tunnels, but you led us back through them like nothing.”
A few empty seconds pass, and I wait for him to finish.
“Turns out Javeed was jockeying for Khan’s position. He led us right to him. Meanwhile, he tipped Khan off that we were preparing an offensive that morning. That’s why security was light. By the time we got back… Fuck,” he mutters quietly, pinching the bridge of his nose.
I echo the sentiment in my head but push him harder. “What happened?”
“When we got near the entrance of the tunnel, we could hear gunfire, but it seemed like it was fading away. You ran right into it before I could stop you. Another envoy from Dwyer showed up and chased the rest of them off before I could get to you. You were fading by then. I thought I’d lost you.”
“And everyone else?”
He shook his head, his eyes haunted with the horrors he must have seen. That was enough.
“I’m sorry.” I feel idiotic saying it.
“Me too. It’s not something I’ll ever forget. I’m damn glad you can’t remember it, but at least now you know.”
Several minutes of silence pass. Brennan waves Abe over, and he brings another round of beers. I don’t need it, but I’m sure Brennan does after what he’s just recounted.
“Your wife was really nice. When I tracked down your address, I stopped by there first to see if you were around.”
He smiles. “Thanks, man. Angel’s the best. No one was happier when I became a civilian again. She put up with enough while I was in.”
He looks wistful for a minute, and I can tell he’s smitten. Lovestruck is about as foreign to me as patriotism, but I recognize it when I see it.
“How about you? Did you and your girl ever figure things out?”
My jaw falls a fraction. “Isabel?”
He snaps and points at me. “That’s it. Isabel. She had you twisted up. I remember it now.”
“I think that might have been the other way around. We weren’t together.”
“Everyone had their ups and downs, Stone. There was always a chance we weren’t coming home or that we’d get cheated on or heartbroken. So we’d screw things up before life screwed us. Didn’t stop you from talking about her all the damn time. I’m pretty sure you wrote her a letter once a week and set it on fire before you could send it. Hell, you had her picture on your wall as long as I could remember.”
I stare at him in stunned silence. Moments ago, he described what was likely the most horrific scene I’d ever experienced. It didn’t feel good, but learning that I was still in love with Isabel after I’d broken things off… That’s got my heart in my throat. Brennan seems to realize this.
“Do you remember her? Isabel?”
I drum my fingers on the table nervously. “No, not really. But we reconnected.”
Brennan’s face is awash with pity. “Wow. That sucks.”
“What?”
“You came home and didn’t even remember her? I can’t imagine. She must be special if she took you back after all that.”
Isabel is special. My instincts knew it the second she said my name. We
may be mired in heartache and peril, but Brennan’s just given me one more reason to protect her.
I need to get back to her before things get worse.
I rise and reach out to shake his hand. “I should let you get back to Angel. Thanks for everything. I know it’ll never be enough, but I am sorry. I really wish things had been different. I’m sorry to make you go through it all again.”
He stands and offers a smile that doesn’t meet his eyes. “We can’t bring them back. But we survived, and as shitty as that feels sometimes, it reminds me to be grateful for whatever I’ve got. Because nothing’s promised.” He shakes his head slightly. “Nothing’s promised.”
CHAPTER SIX
Isabel
“What does it mean…that lettering on the car?”
Makanga squints out the window of the barbeque place we’ve stopped at for lunch.
“Means fall down a thousand times, get up a thousand and one. At least that’s what the Cambodian lady I bought it from said. Works for me.”
Sounds like my new life motto, so it works for me too. I swallow the last of my pulled pork sandwich and reach for my phone. No messages from Tristan. I’m still shaken from my run-in with the director. I want to tell him about it, but I’m also not sure how he’ll react. One step into his old house put him in a place dark enough that he couldn’t stay with me last night. I worry what this new discovery will mean for us.
“Did you find what you were looking for?”
I contemplate Makanga’s question. “Yes and no.”
“What’s that mean?”
“I may have found something I wasn’t looking for.”
“All right.” He leans back in his chair and tosses his napkin on his finished plate. “Where to next?”
I quirk an eyebrow. “You’re not going to try raising your rates on me again, are you?”
He chuckles. “Nah. I figure you’ll make it up to me later.”
When I freeze, his brows come together.
“That’s not what I meant.” He waves his hand. “Not at all. I know you’re Red’s girl. I just meant, you know, sometimes we have to help each other out. Maybe one of these days, I’ll need a favor from you. Plus, I don’t have anything going on today, and I want to make sure you stay out of trouble.”
I relax and choose to believe him. “Thanks.”
The waitress brings our check, and Makanga takes it. We exchange a look like he’s logging this with the rest of my debt.
“What makes you think I’m with Tristan anyway?”
I’m not really sure what to call us. There’s no mainstream term for the circumstances that have thrust us back into each other’s lives.
Makanga drops some cash into the check holder. “I’ve known him a little while. Red’s not exactly a passionate guy. He’s…” He smirks. “Well, he’s all business, you know? With you, it just seems like something else is driving him. Like he’s ready to go to war for you or something.”
I avert my eyes and try to hide how true his words are.
“Maybe he already has,” Makanga says with even more certainty.
Tristan hasn’t exactly professed his love to me, but he’s protected me. He followed me here. I believe he wants me safe, even for his own selfish reasons, which I can’t deny are significant. The attraction aside, I’m the only reliable person from his past.
I decide to sidestep Makanga’s presumptions about Tristan.
“Do you think you could take me to my parents’ place?”
Makanga clucks his tongue. “Eh, not sure about that. Red didn’t want me taking you there until it was safe.”
“My father works for the CIA. He wouldn’t ask me to come home unless he knew it was safe.”
“Shit,” he mutters under his breath as he slides his gaze to his sorry excuse for a car.
Everything is just as I remembered. The Midday Lane of my childhood is freshly paved, curving through our quiet suburban neighborhood. On either side, brick colonials are set back on quarter-acre lots. Ours is painted yellow with a red door at the end of the walk. The yard is manicured, though spring has yet to bring the trees and grass back to life.
“You just going to walk right in?” Makanga scans our surroundings from our parking spot across the street.
I look around, feeling much like Tristan as I do. I expect to see danger, or feel it, but I don’t. “I guess so,” I say hesitantly.
“I’d wait for you, but I think Betsy might be a little out of place here.”
“I’ll be fine. Maybe Tristan can pick me up later.” I look down at my phone, unsure if that’s even a possibility. Tristan has no idea I’ve been out and about.
I tuck the phone back into my pocket, thank Makanga, and make my way to the front door. I ring the bell once. Twice. No answer. Over my shoulder, I spot Makanga still idling, waiting like a worrisome parent for me to get inside safe.
I circle to the back and try the door, but it’s locked. Finally, I bang on the door, and my mother comes into view. Her eyes are wide with worry. Her dark-brown hair is falling in wisps around her face, fluttering as she walks briskly toward me. She flings open the door.
“Isabel!”
She meets me at the threshold, grabs me, and traps me in a hug so tight it’s difficult to breathe. “You’re home. Thank you, Jesus, you’re home. My baby.” She rocks me as if I still were a child. “I should have never let you go,” she whispers shakily.
I choke back emotion at being in my mother’s arms. Once upon a time, this was the safest place to be. The place where tears turned into giggles. The place I could always run to for comfort and soft words…in simpler times.
She pulls away with tears in her eyes. “Come in. Quick. It’s freezing.”
She ushers me inside and into the kitchen. She’s in jeans and a loose top with a beige pashmina wrapped around her shoulders. The skin around her eyes is dark, evidence of what likely have been many sleepless nights worrying about me. She doesn’t look well.
Seeing her this way, I’m steeped in an emotion stronger than my fear—newfound guilt that I left DC for such a dangerous and unpredictable place. I even find myself acknowledging the heartache my determined love affair with Tristan caused her.
“I didn’t think you’d come here,” she says.
“Dad said you wanted to see me.”
She glances out the window and then back to me. “I thought we could at least meet somewhere. He told me everything that happened. I just felt like I had to see you to believe you were truly okay. This has been awful. When they told me you were missing…” Her eyes glimmer with tears.
“I’m okay now, I promise,” I say softly.
“I know, but sometimes it’s hard to convince myself when everyone else thinks you’re still missing. I have to pretend like you are, and then I start worrying that something’s happened to you. These people…” Her tears spill over. “My God, this is all my fault.”
“Mom, this isn’t your fault.”
She shakes her head stiffly, wiping at her eyes as she does. “You don’t understand, Isabel. This world is full of hateful people. Monsters who thrive on vengeance and stealing people away from the ones they love. They could have taken you.”
Her elegant features collapse with a silent sob.
“Mom, no.” I go to her and bring my arms around her shaking frame.
“They took Mariana. Not you too.”
I hold her closer and tighter, the seed of worry growing. She’s not making sense. I glance around the kitchen expecting to see an empty wine bottle or something. Only her cold tea and dishes from yesterday’s meals stacked in the sink. Maybe she’s taken something, or maybe she needs to.
“I’m home now, okay? No one can hurt me,” I say in a soothing voice. “Do you want to lie down or have some tea?”
After a few moments, she seems to calm herself. “I’m fine. Come.”
I follow her into the library, a quaint sitting room where I’d spent many hours curled up in the window seat,
watching cars go by between the pages of a book. She draws the curtains, and we get settled in two comfortable chairs. She seems to have composed herself. Her eyes are only slightly red.
We share the kind of tense, knowing smile worn by two people who’ve just endured something truly grueling. Even though we’ve been thousands of miles apart, I’m certain we both have. I’ve missed our regular phone calls. I’ve missed a lot of things…
“How is Tristan?”
I shrug slightly. “Fine, I guess. Different.”
Moody. Intense. Impossibly sexy.
Her lips draw tight, and I can see her wheels turning. My mother never hated Tristan, but she hadn’t exactly warmed to him either.
“I wasn’t sure what to think when Morgan said you were with him. It’s been so long.”
“I know. It’s not like I ever really stopped thinking about him though.”
“What about Kolt?”
I rise and walk to the fireplace. The mantel is lined with old family photos. My parents’ wedding photo among them.
“Kolt always wanted more than I could really give him. He wanted a part of me that I’d already given to someone else.”
I turn back, expecting to see her disappointment, but her expression is calm and lacks the judgment I’m used to seeing whenever conversations revolve around Tristan.
“Does that disappoint you?” I ask for good measure.
“You’ve never disappointed me, Isabel. If anything, I’ve disappointed you. God knows if we hadn’t resisted so much when it came to Tristan, maybe none of this would have happened.”
She gives voice to a thought I’ve had many times since Tristan came back into my world. What if we’d been met with less opposition from the start? What if he hadn’t fulfilled their every wish by leaving and ending things?
All the wondering leads me to the same place it always does. What if Tristan hadn’t come back into my life ever again? And that seems like the worst what if of all.
TRISTAN
I’ve been parked down the street for over two hours. Long enough to see Isabel’s father pull into the driveway and walk inside. Long enough to talk myself out of storming into her parents’ home and fulfilling their worst nightmares—kidnapping their daughter all over again in the name of keeping her safe. I can’t leave, though.
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