Clark looked at Bobby with new interest. “Whoa. It never even occurred to me. Are you gay?”
For the first time in a good long number of minutes, there was complete and total silence. They were all looking at him. Colleen was looking at him, frowning slightly, speculation in her eyes.
Oh, great. Now she thought he’d told her he only wanted to be friends because he was—
He looked at her, wavering, unable to decide what to say. Should he just shut up and let her think whatever she thought, hoping that it would make her keep her distance?
Colleen found her voice. “Congratulations, Clark, you’ve managed to reach new heights of rudeness. Bobby, don’t answer him—your sexual orientation is no one’s business but your own.”
“I’m straight,” he admitted.
“I’m sure you are,” Colleen said a little too heartily, implying that she suspected otherwise.
He laughed again. “Why would I lie?”
“I believe you,” she said. “Absolutely.” She winked at him. “Don’t ask, don’t tell. We’ll just pretend Clark didn’t ask.”
Suddenly this wasn’t funny anymore, and he laughed in disbelief. “What, do you want me to do…?” Prove it? He stopped himself from saying those words. Oh, God.
She was giving him another of those killer smiles, complete with that two-thousand-degree incinerating heat in her eyes. Yes, she did want him to prove it. She didn’t say it in words, but it was right there, written all over her face. She hadn’t believed he was gay for one minute. She’d been baiting him. And he’d walked right into her trap. She waggled her eyebrows at him suggestively, implying that she was only teasing, but he knew better.
Help.
Please, God, let there be voice mail waiting for him, back in his hotel room. Please, God, let Wesley have called, announcing that he was back in the States and on his way to Boston. Please, God…
“Now that we’ve got that mystery solved, the two burning questions of the night that remain are why did you come back to Boston,” Colleen said to her roommate, “and why blue?” She turned and looked at Clark’s hair critically. “I’m not sure it’s you…dude.”
“What is a Navy SEAL?” Kenneth reminded her. “Burning question number three. I keep picturing beach balls and Seaworld, and I’m confident that’s not quite right.”
“SEALs are part of the U.S. military’s special forces,” Colleen said. “They’re part of the Navy, so they spend a lot of time in and around the water—swimming, scuba diving, underwater demolition even. But SEAL stands for sea, air and land. They also jump out of airplanes and crawl across the desert and through the jungle, too. Most of the time no one knows that they’re there. They carry great big guns—assault weapons, like commandos—but nearly all of their operations are covert.” She looked at Clark. “Which means secret. Clandestine—99.9 percent of the time they insert and extract from their mission location without firing a single bullet.”
She turned back to Bobby. “Did I miss anything vital? Besides the fact that you SEALs frequently kill people—usually with your bare hands—and that you’re known for being exceedingly rough in bed?”
Bobby started to laugh. He couldn’t help it. And then Colleen was laughing, too, with the others just staring at them as if they were crazy.
She was so alive, so full of light and joy. And in less than a week she was going to get on an airplane and fly to a dangerous place where she could well be killed. And, Lord, what a loss to the world that would be. The thought was sobering.
“Please don’t go,” he said to her.
Somehow she knew he was talking about the trip to Tulgeria. She stopped laughing, too. “I have to.”
“No, you don’t. Colleen, you have no idea what it’s like there.”
“Yes, I do.”
Ashley pulled her brother and Kenneth toward the door. “Coll, we’re going to go out for a—”
“No, you’re not.” Colleen didn’t look away from Bobby. “Kick Thing A and Thing B out onto the street, but if you’re getting one of your headaches, you’re not going anywhere but to bed.”
“Well then, I’ll be in my room,” Ashley said quietly. “Come on, children. Let’s leave Aunt Colleen alone.”
“Hasta la vista, baby.” Clark nodded to Bobby. “Dude.”
“Thanks again for not killing me,” Kenneth said cheerfully.
They went out the door, and Ashley faded quietly down the hallway.
Leaving him alone in the living room with Colleen.
“I should go, too.” That would definitely be the smart thing. As opposed to kissing her. Which would definitely be the opposite of the smart thing. But he couldn’t seem to get his feet to move toward the door.
“You should come into the kitchen,” she countered. “Where there are chairs that aren’t covered with boxes. We can actually sit down.”
She took his hand and tugged him into the kitchen. Somehow his feet had no problem moving in that direction.
“Okay,” she said, sitting at the kitchen table. “Spill. What happened in Tulgeria?”
Bobby rubbed his forehead. “I wish it was that easy,” he said. “I wish it was one thing. I wish I was wrong, but I’ve been there a half dozen times, at least, and each time was more awful than the last. It’s bad and getting worse, Colleen. Parts of the country are a war zone. The government’s lost control everywhere but in the major cities, and even there they’re on shaky ground. Terrorist groups are everywhere. There are Christian groups, Muslim groups. They work hard to kill each other, and if that wasn’t enough, there’s in-fighting among each of the groups. Nobody’s safe. I went into a village and—”
Lord, he couldn’t tell her—not the details. He didn’t want to tell her any of it, but he made himself. He looked her straight in the eye and said it. “Everyone was dead. A rival group had come in and…Even the children, Colleen. They’d been methodically slaughtered.”
She drew in a breath. “Oh, no!”
“We went in because there were rumors that one of the terrorist groups had gotten hold of some kind of chemical weapon. We were there to meet a team of Army Rangers, escort ’em out to a waiting submarine with samples of whatever they’d found. But they came up empty. These people had nothing. They had hardly any regular ammunition, let alone any kind of chemical threat. They killed each other with swords—these big machete-style things, with these curved, razor-sharp blades.
“No one is safe there.” He said it again, hoping she was listening. “No one is safe.”
She looked pale, but her gaze didn’t waver. “I have to go. You tell me these things, and I have to go more than ever.”
“More than half of these terrorists are zealots.” He leaned across the table, willing her to hear him, to really hear him. “The other half are in it for the black market—for buying and selling anything. Including Americans. Especially Americans. Collecting ransom is probably the most lucrative business in Tulgeria today. How much would your parents pay to get you back?”
“Bobby, I know you think—”
He cut her off. “Our government has a rule—no negotiating with terrorists. But civilians in the private sector…Well, they can give it a go—pay the ransom and gamble that they’ll actually get their loved one back. Truth is, they usually don’t. Colleen, please listen to me. They usually don’t get the hostages back.”
Colleen gazed at him searchingly. “I’ve heard rumors of mass slaughters of Tulgerian civilians in retaliation by the local government.”
Bobby hesitated, then told her the truth. “I’ve heard those rumors, too.”
“Is it true?”
He sighed. “Look, I know you don’t want to hear this, but if you go there you might die. That’s what you should be worrying about right now. Not—”
“Is it true?”
God, she was magnificent. Leaning across the table toward him, palms down on the faded formica top, shoulders set for a fight, her eyes blazing, her hair on fire.
; “I can guarantee you that the U.S. has special forces teams investigating that right this very moment,” he told her. “NATO warned Tulgeria about such acts of genocide in the past. If they’re up to their old tricks and if we find out about it—and if they are, we will, I guarantee it—then the U.S. ambassador and his staff will be pulled out of Tulibek immediately. The U.S. will cut all relations with the Tulgerian government. The embassy will be gone—potentially overnight. If that happens while you’re there…”
Bobby took a steadying breath. “Colleen, if you go, you’ll be in danger every minute of that entire week.”
“I want to show you something,” she said. “Don’t go anywhere. I’ll be right back.”
Chapter 7
The photographs were in her bedroom. Colleen grabbed the envelope from her dresser, stopping to knock softly on Ashley’s door on her way back to the kitchen.
“Come in.”
The room was barely lit, with the shades all pulled down. Ash was at her computer, and despite the dim lighting, Colleen could see that her eyes were red and swollen. She’d been crying.
“How’s the headache?” Colleen asked.
“Pretty bad.”
“Try to sleep.”
Ashley shook her head. “I can’t. I have to write this.”
“Write what?”
“A brief. To my father. That’s the only way he’ll ever pay attention to me—if I write him a legal brief. Isn’t that pathetic?”
Colleen sighed. It was pathetic. Everything about Ashley’s relationship with her father was pathetic. She’d actually gotten caller-ID boxes for all of their telephones, so they’d know not to answer when Mr. DeWitt called. Colleen loved it when her own father called.
“Why don’t you do it later?” she said to her friend. “After the headache’s gone.”
Ashley’s headaches were notoriously awful. She’d been to the doctor, and although they weren’t migraines, they were similar in many ways. Brought on by tension and stress, the doctor had said.
Great ailment for a future lawyer to have.
“I’ll help you with it,” Colleen continued. “You need to tell me what happened—why you haven’t called or e-mailed me since mid-May. I assume it’s all connected?” It was. She could see that from the look on Ashley’s face. “Just let me get rid of Bobby, okay?”
“Don’t you dare!” Indignation gave Ashley a burst of energy. “Colleen, my God! You’ve had a thing for this guy for years! He’s gorgeous, by the way. And huge. I mean, you told me he was big, but I had no idea. How tall is he?”
“I don’t know exactly. Six-six? Maybe taller.”
“His hands are like baseball mitts.”
“Yeah,” Colleen said. “And you know what they say about guys with big hands.”
“They have big gloves,” they said in unison. Colleen grinned, and Ashley even managed a weak smile. But it was fleeting.
“I can’t believe my rotten timing. Of all the times to come running back to Cambridge and get in the way…” Ashley rested her forehead in her hands, elbows on her desk. “I saw him looking at you, Coll. All you have to do is say the word and he’ll spend the night.”
“He gave me the friends speech,” Colleen told her.
“You’re kidding!”
“Let’s see—would that be something that I, designated best friend to the entire world’s male population, would kid about? No, I don’t think so.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Yeah, well…” Colleen forced a smile. “Personally I think he’s lying—that he’s got some kind of code-of-honor thing going, you know, because I’m his best friend’s sister. I have to convince him that it’s okay, that he doesn’t have to fall in love and marry me—that I just want us to have some fun.”
Although if he did happen to fall in love with her…No, she couldn’t let herself think that way. That path was fraught with the perils of disappointment and frustration. All she wanted was to have fun, she reminded herself again, wishing the words hadn’t sounded so hollow when she’d said them aloud.
“He’s probably wondering what happened to you,” Ashley pointed out.
Colleen went out the door, stopping to look at her friend, her hand on the knob. “I’ll be back in about thirty minutes to get your full report on Scarsdale and your dear old dad.”
“That’s really not necessary—”
“I know you,” Colleen said. “You’re not going to sleep until we talk, so we’re going to talk.”
Bobby heard the door shut, heard Colleen coming back down the hall to the kitchen.
He’d heard the soft murmur of voices as she’d stopped to speak to her roommate.
The soundproofing in this old place was virtually nonexistent.
That meant that grabbing her when she came back into the room, and having hot, noisy sex right there, on top of the kitchen table was definitely not an option.
Oh, man, he had to get out of here.
He stood up, but Colleen came into the room, blocking his escape route.
“Sit,” she ordered. “Just for a few more minutes. I want to show you something.”
She took a photograph out of an envelope and slid it across the table toward him. It was a picture of a small girl, staring solemnly into the camera. She had enormous eyes—probably because she was so skinny. She was all narrow shoulders, with a pointy chin, dressed in ill-fitting clothes, with a ragged cap of dark-brown hair. She looked to be about six or seven years old, with the kind of desperate and almost feral air about her that would have made Bobby watch her from the corner of his eye had he happened upon her in the street. Yeah, he’d watch her, all right, and secure his wallet in an inside pocket.
“This was Analena,” Colleen told him, “two years ago—before my student Children’s Aid group adopted her.”
She put another picture on the table. “This was taken just last month.”
It was the same girl, only now her hair was longer—thick and glossy. She was smiling—laughing—as she ran across a field, kicking a soccer ball. Her cheeks were pink and healthy looking, and although she was still rail thin, it was because she was growing. She was gangly, gawky. She no longer looked as if she would snap in two. And the feral look was gone. She was a child again.
Colleen laid a letter in front of him—written in a large, loopy child’s hand. “Dearest Colleen,” he read silently:
I dream last night that I visit you in U.S. of A. It such wonderful dream—I want to no wake up. I hope you okay that I gifted Ivan with futball you gifted me. He try to steal many times, I think, why not he keep?
My English, she is getting better, no? It is gift from you—from America books and tape player and batteries you send. Blessed gift. More better than futball. Ivan make bad noise, don’t think this. Still, I teach Ivan English words. Some day he thank me, thank you, also.
Send more letter soon. Love, Analena.
Colleen pulled other photos from the envelope. They were pictures of other kids.
“Analena and about twenty-five other children live in an orphanage, St. Christof’s, deep inside Tulgeria’s so-called war zone,” she told him, “which also happens to be the part of the country that sustained the most damage from the earthquake. My Children’s Aid group has been corresponding—for over two years—with the nuns who run St. Christof’s. We’ve been trying to find a legal loophole so we can get those children out of Tulgeria. These are unwanted children, Bobby. Most are of mixed heritage—and nobody wants them. The terrible irony is that we have lists of families here in the U.S. who want them desperately—who are dying to adopt. But the government won’t let them go. They won’t pay to feed them, yet they won’t give them up.”
The pictures showed the bleakness of the orphanage. Boarded-up windows, peeling paint, bombed-out walls. These children were living in a shell of a former house. In all of the pictures, the nuns—some clad in old-fashioned habits, some dressed in American jeans and sneakers—were always smiling, but Bobby could see
the lines of strain and pain around their eyes and mouths.
“When this earthquake happened,” Colleen continued, still in that same soft, even voice, “we jumped at the chance to actually go in there.” She looked Bobby squarely in the eyes. “Bringing relief aid and supplies to the quake victims is just our cover. We’re really going in to try to get those children moved out of the war zone, to a safer location. Best-case scenario would be to bring them back to the States with us, but we know the chances of that happening are slim to none.”
Bobby looked at her. “I can go,” he said. “Colleen, I’ll do this for you. I’ll go instead of you.”
Yes, that would work. He could get some of the other men in Alpha Squad to come along. Rio Rosetti, Thomas King and Mike Lee were all young and foolish. They’d jump at the chance to spend a week’s vacation in the number-one most dangerous hot spot in the world. And Spaceman—Lieutenant Jim Slade. He was unmarried, too. He’d help if Bobby asked.
But no way would Bobby ask any of his married friends to spend any of their too-infrequent leave time away from their families, risking their lives.
“This could work,” he told her, but she was already shaking her head.
“Bobby, I’m going.” She said it firmly, absolutely, calmly. As if this was a fact that wasn’t going to change no matter what he said or did. “I’m the liaison with the Tulgerian minister of Public Health. I believe he’s our one hope of getting those children moved out of immediate danger. He knows me, he trusts me—I’m going.”
“If you’re going, I’m going, too,” he told her just as absolutely.
She shook her head. “No, you’re not.”
He sighed. “Look, I know you probably think I’m just interfering, but—”
Colleen smiled. “No, you don’t understand. I’d love it if you could come along. Honest. It would be great. But be practical, Bobby. We’re leaving in less than a week. It’s taken us nearly three weeks to get permission to enter the country and bring aid—despite the fact that people there are wandering around hungry, their homes destroyed by this earthquake. You’ll have to go through the same diplomatic channels and—”
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