Hard Asset

by Pamela Clare

  You’re being ridiculous.

  He’d told her he didn’t do relationships. What had she expected?

  When he left to use the restroom, Elizabeth sat in his seat. “I’m sorry for what you’ve been through, Shanti. We all are.”

  “I’m sorry you lost two men.” Remembering, she reached for the plastic bag a corpsman had given her to hold what remained of her belongings and drew out the family photo she’d taken from John Hatch’s luggage. “This got wet in the river. Sorry. I thought his family might want it.”

  Elizabeth took the picture. “You carried this all the way back from the crash site? Thanks. I’m sure they’ll be grateful.”

  “What went wrong?”

  Elizabeth told her how the Indian pilot, who’d sold himself out to Naing, had been dating one of Pauline’s support staff, the woman who kept her calendar. “When he learned from her that you weren’t coming to camp that day, he knew to watch for Cobra transports at the Cox’s Bazar airport. He was a pilot, and people were used to seeing him there. He had access to the terminal and tarmac. He and his buddy shot John Hatch and Robert Davis in the hangar—and you know the rest. I ruled the Indian pilot out in my assessment because he’d piloted the helicopter the day those guys fired the grenade at you. I shouldn’t have done that. I was wrong, and I’m sorry.”

  “Pauline wasn’t the leak.” That was a relief.

  “No, she wasn’t, but she is horrified. She fired her clerk.”

  “Do the men’s families know?”

  Elizabeth nodded. “Notifying them was Corbray’s job, not mine—thank God.”

  Then it was all too much for Shanti—the abduction, the pilots’ murders, saying goodbye to Connor. Her eyes filled with tears that she couldn’t hold back. “I’m sorry.”

  “For what?” Elizabeth reached for a tissue. “Damn, girl, you were unstoppable until you broke your tibia. You’ve earned our respect. Am I right, guys?”

  “Hell, yeah,” Malik said.

  “You’re one tough chick,” Cruz said.

  “There are blokes a-plenty who wouldna be able to do what you did, lass.”

  “You’re a badass, Ms. Lahiri,” Mr. Tower said from behind a newspaper.

  Shanti hadn’t realized the others had been listening.

  Elizabeth leaned in and hugged her, whispering in her ear. “Don’t worry. Connor is crazy about you. Give him time.”

  Shanti’s pulse skipped. Had she said something to give them away?

  Elizabeth seemed to read her mind. “I’ve never seen him act like this about any woman—ever.”

  Then Connor was there, glaring at Elizabeth. “Fishing?”

  Elizabeth released Shanti, got to her feet. “She was upset.”

  He narrowed his eyes at her. “Right.”

  “You should know that we got your Hot Wheels out to the camp hospital. Pauline was grateful.” Then Elizabeth spoke in a whisper for their ears only. “This is going to be a very interesting debriefing.”

  They landed in The Hague shortly after midnight.

  “Everyone, take a break and stretch your legs.” Tower stood, glanced at his watch. “We’re refueling and heading on to Denver.”

  Connor stood, helped Shanti to stand. “How are you feeling?”

  “I’m okay.” She looked like she might cry, every emotion she was feeling there in those amber eyes—love, gratitude, dread, grief.

  “Ms. Lahiri, you’ve got my deepest apologies for the way this went down. It’s been an honor to serve you.” Tower held out his hand.

  Shanti skipped the handshake and hugged him. “You all worked so hard to keep me safe and get me home again, risking your lives. I can never thank you enough.”

  One by one, she said goodbye to the staff, giving each of them a hug.

  Connor had thought he’d get a moment alone with her. He wanted a chance to set things straight. He’d hurt her earlier, and he hadn’t meant to.

  Armed hostiles he could handle. Emotions? Not so much.

  Fuck.

  “We’ve got paramedics here to drive you to the hospital, Ms. Lahiri. Your boss wants you to be checked out by someone other than a navy surgeon. You can just wait in your seat. Also, your parents are here.”

  “They are?”

  Everyone smiled at her surprise—everyone except Connor.

  This was happening too fast. In his head, it hadn’t gone like this. He’d been able to kiss her, hold her, say a decent farewell, maybe even find the courage to tell her how he felt about her. But it just wasn’t happening.

  Airport staff arrived at the plane’s rear exit with a special lift to enable the paramedics to transport Shanti on a stretcher, the others heading for the front exit.

  Connor stayed put.

  “O’Neal, let’s get out of the paramedics’ way,” Tower said.

  “I haven’t said goodbye.” Shanti’s gaze met his, anguish in her eyes. She sank into his arms, the feel of her precious. “I will never forget you. Thank you. You saved my life so many times I lost count.”

  “You saved mine, too, remember?” It was the truth, but that wasn’t what he wanted to say to her. “Take care of yourself.”

  He would have said more, he would have kissed her, but Tower stood there, watching. Connor let her go, every fiber of his body objecting.

  She pressed something into his hand. Her business card. “Stay safe.”

  He willed himself to smile. “You, too.”

  And for the second time in as many days, he turned his back on her and walked away when that was the last thing in the world he wanted to do.

  His heart thundered in his chest, everything in him screaming for him to turn around, to go after her, to say what he’d left unsaid. He willed his feet to keep moving. Down the stairs to the tarmac and toward the terminal.

  “Good job, O’Neal,” Tower said. “There was a time or two when I wasn’t sure we’d get the two of you back alive.”

  “I bet.” Connor glanced back, saw the paramedics wheeling the stretcher out of the plane and onto the lift platform.

  Christ!

  He felt the tug of her from across the tarmac, every step taking him farther away from her. He willed himself to move on, to let her go. She needed time to heal. They probably both needed time to sort through everything that had happened.

  If you don’t get a grip, you’re going to get yourself fired.

  They entered the terminal, the airport almost empty.

  He looked to his right, saw the paramedics push Shanti through an entrance farther down the terminal.

  Two people ran to her—a tall man with dark hair and a woman with blonde hair.

  “Shanti!”

  They hugged her, their joy at having their daughter back palpable.

  “A happy ending,” Tower said. “You gave them that.”

  “We all did.” Connor tried to feel a sense of satisfaction, but everything in the world that mattered to him was leaving by the door at the far end of the terminal. When the door closed and Shanti disappeared from view, he felt it in his chest.

  Shanti spent the night in the hospital, her mother remaining by her side while her father stayed in her apartment. In the morning, she saw an orthopedist and a neurologist who did a CT scan on her head, gave her discharge instructions, and sent her home.

  It felt strange to walk through her own front door. Bram and her friends from work had sent flowers, and her father had gotten her flowers, too, so the place smelled like roses and lilies. “Thanks.”

  It was a relief to be out of the jungle, to be safe, and yet…

  God, she missed Connor.

  If he’d just given her some sign that he cared about her…

  You knew it would end like this.

  And she’d let herself fall in love with him anyway.

  Her mother made them cups of cha, and they sat together in her living room, Shanti taking up the sofa so she could elevate her leg. Like a true Bengali, her father asked her about little things at first—th
e weather in Bangladesh, her flight home, whether she’d heard from her brother yet.

  “Enough, Dev,” her mother said. “What happened? One day, we get an email from you, saying you’re busy at work. A few days later, the State Department calls to tell us you’ve been abducted, the helicopter has crashed, and you are missing in Myanmar. We didn’t even know you were in Myanmar. God, Shanti, I’ve never been more afraid. I think it took ten years off my life.”

  Shanti told them the story, leaving out the sexy bits—her visits to the camps, the soldier’s cell phone with its damning evidence, the abduction, and Connor being shot.

  “I thought he was dead, but then I saw he was still breathing. His gun had fallen to the floor of the helicopter, so I got a hold of it and hid it. I told myself that I would kill, if necessary, to save his life. I don’t know if I could have pulled the trigger.”

  “My sweet, brave girl.” Her father poured her more cha. “You never should have been placed in that position.”

  She told them about the helicopter crash, the wild gaur, and the long trek home—the tree house camp, the bombed remains of the mandir, the cobra that had almost bitten Connor, the rope ladder and bridge, the World War II plane fuselage with the skeletal remains of its crew inside, and Ashin Dempo and Mya.

  “We didn’t trust them at first, but they put their lives on the line to save ours. Mya led us out to the river while her father was in the Great Hall with General Naing.”

  She told them about the remains of Myar Zin and their trek toward the border and how she’d broken her ankle. “Connor carried me for miles on his back until we were discovered.”

  By the time she got to the part where she’d told Connor to leave her, her mother was in tears. “Oh, Shanti. You told him to leave you alone?”

  “If he had stayed, they would have gotten both of us. He would be dead, and I would be in prison. This way, he escaped and turned the tables on them. He rescued me from Naing’s men and got the two of us to the Naf River.”

  “Thank God for him,” her mother said again.

  “I had trouble staying conscious. I guess I passed out in the water.” She swallowed the lump in her throat. “And then he was there, Dad—Uncle Abani.”

  She told them what her vision of Uncle Abani had said. “I was drowning, but he woke me. I pushed myself to the surface and coughed up water—and then Connor was there. He held me the rest of the way to the boat. He said he thought he’d lost me. Was Uncle Abani truly there? Was that his atman, his soul?”

  Tears filled her father’s eyes. “Who can say? But as this vision of him saved your life, I call it a miracle.”

  “I wish we’d gotten a chance to meet Connor and thank him,” her mother said.

  “So do I.” She couldn’t hold it back any longer, tears spilling down her cheeks. “I love him. I know he cares about me, too, but… I think some part of him believes he’s not good enough for me.”

  “It’s probably just the situation, sweetheart.” Her mother took her hand. “You both went through a lot together. It’s natural that you would feel close to him.”

  “That’s what he said.” But it wasn’t what Shanti wanted to hear.

  “You are very different people,” her father said. “He works as a fighter, and you work for peace. I always imagined you with a scholar or an attorney. I’m grateful to him for getting you home alive, but, Shanti, he lives a life of violence.”

  “If there weren’t people like him who were willing and able to fight, people like me wouldn’t be able to do our work.”

  Her father’s expression became troubled, and she could tell he was struggling with that idea. “I suppose that’s true. When did my daughter become so wise?”

  “That’s what he taught me.”

  And now Shanti would have to get used to life without him.

  23

  Connor and the rest of the Cobra team reached Denver in the early afternoon.

  “Debriefing at zero-nine-hundred hours,” Tower said as they disembarked.

  Connor carried his gear to his Ford F-150 and drove through traffic to his condo in LoDo, regret sitting in his chest, cold and heavy as lead.

  Shanti.

  He’d thought about her all the way home, dreamed about her when he’d slept, everything in him wishing he’d had the guts to tell her how he felt. He’d hurt her. He’d seen that in her eyes. He told himself it was better this way, that the two of them were just high on adrenaline, that they would both get over it.

  Keep telling yourself that.

  He went through his post-mission routine—laundry, grocery shopping, checking his gear, making a list for the debriefing.

  A pair of NVGs. More MREs. Spare batteries.

  Then he called his folks, let them know he was safe. The State Department had told them he’d been shot down, and he knew they must be worried.

  “They going to give you any time off after this one?” his father asked. “Seems to me you deserve it. We would love a visit. It was Christmas when we last saw you, son.”

  “I’ve got lots of apples,” his mother added. “I’ll make apple pie and homemade ice cream.”

  “Yeah, we’ll see.”

  When Cruz texted him to say that the guys were heading to the Pony, Connor joined them, tossing back one whiskey after another, and rebuffing the hot blonde who hit on him. She was pretty and clearly wanted a quick fuck—but she wasn’t Shanti.

  “Another time maybe.” He left after that, took a cab home.

  Alcohol made for a bad night’s sleep, nightmares about Shanti being swept downriver jolting him awake twice.

  As Shields had predicted, it was an interesting debriefing.

  “Why the fuck would you leave a defenseless client alone and allow her to be taken by the enemy?” Tower asked.

  It had been Shanti’s idea, but the responsibility for the decision rested solely on Connor’s shoulders. “It was a tactical retreat.”

  “A tactical retreat?” Corbray asked. “You’re going to have to explain that, man.”

  Connor told them how the dog had found them, the little girls following behind. “They saw my rifle and knife, and their screams brought villagers down on us. We knew the villagers would get the soldiers whose vehicle we’d just seen. We were caught between the two groups.”

  “And Ms. Lahiri was incapable of walking,” Tower said.

  “If I had tried to run with her on my back, they would have taken both of us. I would most likely have been killed on the spot, and Ms. Lahiri would have become Naing’s prisoner. By leaving her, I was able to choose my ground, take the soldiers out one by one, retrieve her, and commandeer their vehicle. She was out of my sight for about ten minutes. It was one of the toughest decisions I’ve ever had to make.”

  And the longest ten minutes of Connor’s life.

  “You’re damned lucky they didn’t rape her—or kill her.” Tower was pissed.

  Connor couldn’t blame him. “It wasn’t luck. She managed to convince the villagers that she was a tourist and that I had hurt her. They helped her at first.”

  “She is one smart woman—and brave,” Corbray said.

  They had no idea.

  “Eventually, one of the villagers brought a soldier, who recognized her. He struck her, and her head hit a rock. I didn’t see this. Ms. Lahiri told me afterward.”

  Corbray and Tower didn’t ask whether he and Shanti had gotten intimate—and Connor sure as hell didn’t tell.

  “Unconventional but tactically sound,” Tower said at last. “Outstanding work, O’Neal. Truly top-notch. Also, the British government is grateful for the location of the Blenheim. They’re working to get permission to repatriate the remains.”

  Connor set the dog tags he’d taken from the crash on the table. “Their families might want these.”

  Tower picked one up, examined it. “I bet they will.”

  The meeting moved on, Corbray taking over. “We’re putting together a team for a small security operation on beh
alf of the State Department in Nairobi—a diplomatic mission.”

  “Let’s do it.” Connor needed a distraction.

  “Not you, O’Neal,” Corbray said. “You’re over your operational-hours limit for the month. You’ve got the rest of the month off.”

  Fuck.

  “You just ruined his day,” Shields teased.

  Connor drove back to his place through a city that ought to have felt like home but didn’t. Nothing seemed the same—not Denver, not the office, not his condo. He told himself it was just re-entry, just the same struggle he always had. But he didn’t believe it.

  This was about Shanti.

  Get a fucking grip.

  He sent her a quick email, asking her how she was feeling—and went for his bottle of whiskey. He started to pour himself a drink.

  It won’t help. You know that. You’ve done this before.

  He stopped. It was September 7, and he had the rest of the month off. He couldn’t spend that entire time drinking.

  He cleaned his condo, watched ESPN for a while, hit the gym, a storm raging inside him. Desperate, and with nowhere else to turn, he packed a bag, threw it into his truck, and headed north to Ault.

  Shanti’s parents stayed for a week, buying groceries, making meals, doing her laundry, keeping her company. She slept a lot—something the doctor had said she might do. When she was awake, she checked her phone obsessively for email from Connor. She was happy to hear he hadn’t gotten in trouble and that they’d given him some vacation.

  “I’m at my parents’ farm for a few days. They don’t have good internet so you might not hear from me for a while,” he wrote. “How is your head?”

  “I still have bad headaches most days, but I’m walking with a boot now. The bruise on my cheek and the bump on my head are healing.”

  She signed her emails, “Love, Shanti.” He signed his simply, “C.”

  Then came Sunday morning, and it was time for her parents to fly home.

  “Take care of yourself, sweetie.” Her mother hugged her tight, then lowered her voice to a whisper. “If this Connor fellow you’re heartsick over feels the same for you, it will work out. Look at your Dad and me.”