by Pamela Clare
“Thanks, Mom. And thanks for your help.”
“Good work, my angel.” Her father kissed her forehead. “You’ve always wanted to make the world a better place, and you are doing just that.”
Then they stepped into the taxi and headed to the airport.
That’s when the nightmares started. Twice that night, she awoke, terrified and covered in cold sweat, dreaming that Connor had disappeared in front of her, leaving her alone in a dark tunnel with no way out.
The next morning, she went back to work, her coworkers standing up at their desks and applauding as she hobbled by.
Bram walked with her to her office, bringing her quickly up to date about their progress cataloging the evidence. “I am so grateful that you’re home and safe.”
“Thanks, Bram.”
Shanti threw herself into her job, working late hours, even though using the computer made her headaches worse. She finished organizing all their evidence—survivor and witness interviews, cell phone videos, still images from the videos, satellite data shared by various nations, UN data, reports from Bangladesh—and wrote an extensive brief that would be part of their official request for an arrest warrant.
It wasn’t easy, not just because of her headaches, but because she kept forgetting things. She resorted to writing herself notes and found herself leaning on her clerk much more than usual. “I’m sorry, Makena. I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”
“Don’t worry, Ms. Lahiri. We all know you’ve been through something terrible.”
It had been terrible, and yet this was harder.
We call it re-entry… When the adrenaline wears off, that’s when the nightmares and the self-doubt set in.
She understood now—or at least she thought she did.
Was he suffering, too?
God, she missed him.
Despite the nightmares and headaches, she pushed herself, one goal in mind—to see Naing arrested and behind bars so that the killing could stop.
After two weeks of this—headaches, nightmares, sorting through images of rape and murder—she found herself at an emotional edge.
“Maybe you’re not ready to be back at work. I want you to see a doctor,” Bram said one day when he’d caught her at her desk, in tears and rubbing her temples.
“I’ll see a doctor when we get the warrant,” she told him.
Finally, on the last day of September, Shanti stood in front of the judge and presented the case that had nearly taken her life.
“Your Honor, for these crimes against humanity, the Office of the Prosecutor requests a warrant for the arrest of General Min Thant Naing.”
Judge Pekka Karvonen, a Finnish judge, didn’t hesitate. “Granted.”
The relief was so intense that Shanti had to grab onto the table.
Judge Karvonen wasn’t finished. “Ms. Lahiri, your commitment to this case has been outstanding. This court is aware of the great personal price you paid to be able to approach this bench and make this request. You are to be praised.”
“Thank you, Your Honor.”
Then the hearing was over.
There was cake and champagne in the prosecutor’s office, but Shanti didn’t feel up to celebrating, her headache so severe she thought her brain might explode.
“What’s wrong?” Bram asked.
“My head. I feel strange, and my vision… It’s disappearing.”
“We’re going. Come.”
He took her in an official ICC limo to the ER, where they diagnosed her with a migraine and post-concussive syndrome, gave her pain medication, and sent her home with strict orders to rest and stay off the computer for the next few weeks.
“You need to take care of yourself now,” Bram told her on the drive to her apartment. “You’ve done enough.”
Shanti’s last thought as she drifted into a drug-induced sleep was of Connor.
Connor cleared the breakfast table and helped his mother with the dishes.
“Thanks, hon.” His mother wiped the counter, started the dishwasher. “It’s sure been nice having you home.”
“It’s been good to see you, too.”
Three weeks was the longest he’d been home since he’d joined the army. He wasn’t sure what he’d expected when he’d come here or even why he’d come. If he was looking for something, he sure hadn’t found it.
Still, it had been nice to see his mother, to hang with his old man, his brother, Ryan, and his sisters, Kate and Tara, and their kids. He’d helped his father with the farm work, the physical exertion burning off some of his restlessness. But it hadn’t made him forget Shanti.
His phone buzzed with a message from Corbray.
The ICC just issued an arrest warrant for Naing. Thought you’d want to know.
“News?” his mother asked.
“The International Criminal Court put out an arrest warrant for General Naing.”
“That’s the man who was after you on this last mission, right?”
“That’s him.” He kissed his mother on the cheek. “Thanks for breakfast.”
He fired up his computer, sent an email to Shanti, knowing she must be relieved.
“You did it, princess,” he wrote. “You made it happen. Congratulations.”
He stupidly waited for a reply, hoping to hear from her, her absence like a hole in his chest. When nothing came, he shut down his computer and went out to help his father, who was harvesting pumpkins.
“Need some help?”
“Sure.” His father handed him a pumpkin and pointed to the cardboard containers on the back of the trailer he’d hitched to his tractor. “We got frost coming in.”
“Since when do you grow pumpkins?”
“Since I discovered that having a pumpkin stand and a corn maze makes good money come Halloween.”
“A corn maze?” Connor noticed that the stalks in the nearest cornfield were still standing. “Who cuts that?”
“I got a fellow out of Kansas comes in and uses GPS and a mini-tractor to get the job done. This year, it’s an elephant. I’ve got a drone photo if you want to see it.” His father pulled out his smartphone and pulled up the image.
“GPS? Drone photos? You’ve gone high-tech.” Connor took the phone, grinned. “Well, look at that. An elephant.”
And instantly, his mind was back on Shanti again.
It was hot, thirsty work, the two of them taking a break on the bumper of the trailer, drinking iced tea from a thermos.
“What’s eating you, son? You come home, work your butt off, and don’t say a word. You’re shook up about something. Is this about the helicopter crash?”
Connor chuckled. “Dad, that was my fourth helicopter crash, and it went well.”
“Then what’s up? Talk to me. Your mother is worried.”
Connor had never talked about his missions, never talked about what he’d had to do, but he found himself telling his father about the boy in Syria and what had happened in Myanmar with Shanti, leaving out the sex. His parents were pretty old-fashioned when it came to that stuff.
“I wanted to tell her I loved her, but I couldn’t. I … I can’t help thinking she deserves someone better, a man who’s made something of himself.”
“Let her decide what kind of man she wants. Correct me if I’m wrong, but last I heard less than ten percent of the soldiers who try out for the Unit actually make it.”
“Yes. About ten percent.”
“You have made something of yourself, one hell of a something. You’ve done more for your country than most people, and we’re awful proud of you. If Shanti loves you like she says she does, she already knows that.”
His father wasn’t getting the point.
“Shanti is an educated woman, a high-powered attorney. She works for peace. Even her name means ‘Peace.’ Her family was nearly wiped out in a genocide before she was born. Her entire life has been about stopping violence. I fight and kill for a living. This isn’t like you and Mom, where you met in high school, lived in the s
ame town, and both grew up farming.”
His father chuckled. “Well, you’ve never done things the easy way.”
That much was true.
“Maybe it’s time for you to find a new line of work. You’ve done your part. Let someone else take it from here.”
“If I don’t work in private security, what the hell do I do?”
His father grinned, as if he’d known this was the problem all along. “If you knew you couldn’t fail, what would you do?”
“I don’t know. I’ve always wanted to go to college and get a degree.”
“Then that’s what you should do.”
Connor shook his head. “I’d be in school with a bunch of kids, and when I graduated, I’d be forty-two.”
“You know what’s going to happen if you don’t go to college?”
“What?”
“You’ll still be forty-two, but you won’t have a degree. It’s not too late to follow your dreams, son. You only get one shot at this life.”
“When she left us, Mya, the monk’s daughter, passed along a message. He told me that he hoped I’d find true peace one day. Hell, Dad, I don’t even know what that is. The only time I’ve felt at peace …”
The realization hit him like a bolt of thunder, drove the breath from his lungs.
“The only time I’ve felt truly at peace was with Shanti.” And suddenly nothing else mattered. “I’m heading back to Denver after dinner.”
His father nodded, took another drink of tea. “Let’s get these pumpkins in before lunch. I think your mama’s making fried chicken.”
“Dad, thanks.”
His father stood, drew him into a sweaty bear hug. “You’re a damned hero, Connor. No father has been prouder of his son than I am of you.”
October 3
Shanti was asleep on the couch when a knock at the door woke her. She stood, hobbled across the room, and looked out the peephole to see…
Oh, my God!
She opened the door. “Connor!”
He stood there looking handsome as sin in a denim jacket, T-shirt, and jeans, a day’s growth of beard on his face, a duffel bag at his feet. “Hey, princess.”
She couldn’t say who moved first, but in the next instant, she was in his arms, laughing and crying at the same time. “I can’t believe you’re here.”
He lifted her off her feet, held her close, buried his face against her throat. “It’s so good to see you.”
And for a time, they stood there, holding each other.
He set her back on her feet. “Can I come in?”
She laughed, wiped the tears from her face. “Yes! Sorry. It’s cold out in the hallway.”
“I emailed to tell you I was on my way.”
“I haven’t been checking email. The doctor says screens are bad for people recovering from a concussion.”
Connor carried his duffel inside, glanced around. “Nice place.”
She shut the door behind him. “Can I get you something?”
“All I want right now is you.” He pulled her into his embrace again, kissed her long and deep and slow. “God, I’ve missed you.”
“I’ve missed you, too, so much.” Then it hit her. “How did you find me?”
He grinned as if her question amused him. “You’ve met Shields, right? She contacted Bram, had a little chat, and here I am.”
“Ah, yes. Of course.” She should have known. She’d have to thank Elizabeth later. “Come and sit down.”
They settled themselves on her sofa, Shanti’s pulse still racing. “I can’t believe you’re here. This is the best surprise ever.”
That made him smile. “Sorry it took me so long. I had some shit to figure out.”
He took her hand, rubbed his thumb over her knuckles, his brow furrowed with concern, his gaze moving to the faint, yellow bruise on her cheek. “How are you feeling? I heard you’re on medical leave.”
“I’m better now that I’m resting and not on the computer all day. I still get headaches, but they’re not as bad. My leg is healing, and I’m getting around just fine.”
“Congratulations on the arrest warrant. That’s an amazing accomplishment. I heard the British journalists were freed the day the warrant came out.”
“I couldn’t have done it without you, but, apart from the journalists’ release, the reaction has been super disappointing.”
“Why do you say that? The bastard is an outlaw now.”
“Myanmar won’t take him into custody. As long as he stays in his country, he’s untouchable. I wanted to do something to help the Rohingya find justice, but all I was able to do was get that warrant. Bram says it sends a message, but it’s not much of a message if Naing is free to keep killing. I had wanted to do more than that, to put him behind bars so the world would see that no one escapes justice.”
“The ICC can’t just go get him?”
She shook her head. “Myanmar isn’t a signatory to the Rome Statute, so the court doesn’t have the authority to take him into custody.”
“Damn. You know, I had that bastard in my sites at the monastery. He was there in the courtyard, and I had a clear shot. I should have taken it.”
“No, it’s better than you didn’t. His country would have rallied around him, and he would have been a martyr. Now, he’s an international pariah.”
“Bram told Shields you’ve had nightmares.”
Good grief! What else had they talked about?
“They’re always the same. We’re in a tunnel, like the ones beneath the monastery. You disappear, and I’m alone. It’s dark, and I can’t get out. I panic and… Then I wake up. Post-traumatic stress, I guess.”
He nodded. “Sounds like it.”
“The organization is connecting me with a therapist.”
“Good. Go. Take care of it.”
“Are you still on vacation? I thought you had to go back to work today.”
It was the first of October, wasn’t it?
His gaze met hers, his blue eyes warm. “I quit.”
She gaped at him. “You … you quit?”
“I’m done, Shanti. I did my part, and I’m done. No more fighting or killing.”
Shanti couldn’t say why, but the news put a lump in her throat. “You really quit?”
He tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “It’s time for me to do something else. I’ve got a good amount of money in savings. I’m going to sell my condo.”
Hope kindled behind Shanti’s breastbone. “What do you plan to do?”
“I want to use my GI benefits, go to college, get a degree.”
“That’s wonderful. Do you know what you want to study?”
He shook his head, grinned. “No clue. Elephants. International relations.”
It was a big change for him, but he seemed different, more relaxed, happier.
“What brought this about?”
“You did, Shanti.” He hesitated as if trying to find the right words. “Remember Dempo’s message for me?”
“He said he hoped you found true peace.”
“I thought about it long and hard. Hell, I’ve barely thought about anything else.” Connor leaned forward, cupped her face between his palms, looked into her eyes. “The only real peace I’ve found is with you. You are my peace, Shanti. I love you.”
Joy washed through her, her heart swelling until it was almost too big for her chest, tears filling her eyes. “Oh, Connor. Say it again.”
“I love you, Shanti.”
“Again.”
He chuckled, held her close. “I love you, Shanti. Hey, mind if I stay here with you while we figure this out?”
“Oh, my God, yes! You still owe me a night of endless kisses, remember?”
“I haven’t forgotten.” He stood, scooped her into his arms, his voice dropping to a sexy purr. “Want to get a head start on that?”
She wrapped her arms around his neck. “I think that’s a good idea. It’s going to take time, you know—all those kisses and other things
.”
“All of the other things.” He started down the hallway. “And Shanti?”
“Yes?”
“I brought condoms.”
She laughed all the way to the bedroom.
Epilogue
June 5
Connor stood at the bar in the rented ballroom of the Ithaca Marriott drinking and shooting the shit with his brother and his Unit and Cobra buddies, music thrumming through rented speakers.
“To the friends who never came home—the true heroes.” He raised his glass.
“To the true heroes.”
“Cheers.”
He tossed back his first whiskey in months.
Ryan, his younger brother, refilled his glass and made another toast. “To my brother, the bravest man I’ve ever known.”
“To O’Neal!” Nick Andris raised his glass.
Andris had fought beside Connor in the Unit and gotten Connor his job at Cobra. His wife, Holly Andris, worked as an intel expert for Cobra and had come from the CIA, like Shields.
“Given the situation, I’ve got more questions about those five days you and Ms. Lahiri spent alone in the jungle,” Tower teased.
Laughter.
Across the room, Shanti danced with Taj. She was wearing Connor’s favorite blue sari, her hands, wrists, feet, and ankles painted with henna, Connor’s name woven into the intricate designs on her skin. Oh, how he’d love to peel off that sari and enjoy her decorated body. The only downside of this whole getting married thing is that they hadn’t slept together since his parents had arrived in Ithaca.
Thank God that would end tomorrow night.
Connor grinned. “You can ask, Tower, but I’m not going to answer. I don’t work for you anymore.”
“Jungle love.” Cruz nodded. “I want an assignment like that.”
“Hell, yeah.” That was Jones.
“Where do I sign up?” Isaksen said.
“This is your fault, Tower,” Corbray grumbled. “We need to hire more female operatives.”