Given New Worlds

by Rachael Sircar

  “You hardly knew me.” Abby couldn’t help but laugh. “Did you really mow lawns?”

  “Yes and no. The company was real, but I only did a few yards, just to relax. It was mostly a cover up.” He paused and rubbed his finger along his lower lip. “Now it’s my turn for a question. What made you decide to put that note on my table? That day at the library.”

  Abby recalled the moment she’d made the decision to write the note. “I don’t know. It was very unlike me.”

  “Is it possible that God’s hand could have been in all of this?”

  It was possible. There were so many coincidences, not all of them good. But then, there were also the great moments.

  “I’m not happy about the fact that you feel lied to, but I’m not sorry. Would I have done it again? Probably. But sometimes ‘need to know’ makes sense. Sometimes it’s done to protect the weary, to provide solace and comfort where otherwise there’d be anxiety and panic.”

  Abby wasn’t sure she agreed, but she understood what he was saying.

  “Answer me this. Would your life have been better if you’d known about the threats? Would you have been a better person if your parents had explained to you early on that there was always the possibility of you being kidnapped and sold on the black market?”

  “The black market?” Abby asked. That hadn’t come up in conversation.

  Sean’s jaw clenched. “What do you think those jerks would have done if they’d gotten their hands on you?”

  “Well… they did it. The night of the after-party.”

  Sean closed his eyes and rubbed his forehead. “Look. I don’t want to talk about all this right now. I just wanted to let you know where I stood. And I want to know where we stand.”

  Abby was impressed with his ability to refrain from beating around the bush. But she didn’t know if she had a reasonable statement on the matter yet. “I’m not sure. I’m still pretty mad.”

  “Understandable. I’m surprised you didn’t take a butter knife to my throat instead of throwing a punch the other night.”

  “Well, apparently your bionic hand is capable of deterring any injury. So it’s probably a good thing I didn’t.”

  “Sorry about that,” Sean said. He bent his wrist back and forth several times, working the muscles that ran through the edge of his hand. “I’m still trying to get used to that thing.”

  Abby was relieved that they were taking a detour from the darker conversations at hand. She had planned on a casual, pleasant day, and casual, pleasant conversation was all she could really deal with at the moment. “Why aren’t you wearing it now?” she asked, more out of curiosity than anything else.

  “If you think it makes me look sexy, I’ll wear it every day.”

  “Hardly,” Abby stated sarcastically. “Not much can top those eyebrows.”

  He wiggled his brows up and down for a moment before leering in mock seduction. For some reason, it was working.

  “And that dimple,” she said.

  Sean smiled and winked, turning Abby’s legs to jelly. Grateful that she was sitting down, she continued. “And, just to humor me, why don’t you go ahead and do that thing with your arms.”

  “That thing with my arms?”

  “You know. The pose.”

  It had been so long since their first conversation in the library. She wondered if he would remember. After a few moments of backtracking, Sean’s face lit into a humored smile and he lifted his arms into a stretch. Unfortunately, the thick sweatshirt was covering the view. The last time she’d seen his arms, they’d been weakened and thin from his injuries and lack of recovery time. She wondered if the strength in his fingers had been echoed in that of his biceps.

  “Take it off,” Abby said, trying not to giggle.

  Sean lifted the shoulders of his sweatshirt, his face pretending to question her demand. She crossed her arms in front of her and lifted an eyebrow in challenge.

  “Okay. I’ll take off mine, if you take off yours,” he offered.

  Ripples of excitement ran through Abby’s veins. This was the old Sean. Or, should she say - the new old Sean. He hadn’t been playful in Kenya. There had still been too much pain. It appeared as though he’d received much more than physical therapy the past few months, his emotions had healed as well. Of course, they would never heal completely. But his playful, fun side had returned, and Abby was going to take full advantage of it.

  She lifted the edges of her sweatshirt, revealing Dad’s old, ratty Army t-shirt she was wearing underneath.

  “Traitor,” he said teasingly, then lifted his own sweatshirt off his body to reveal the same gorgeous arms he’d had the moment she’d thought he was part of the college rowing team. They were fabulous.

  Abby quickly wiggled out of her sweatshirt and tossed it at him, if only to see his muscles flex and strain to catch it. He folded both sweatshirts neatly, placing them on the coffee table. Abby was amazed at how well he was able to move his fingers, it was a shame that he’d had to experience their lack of movement when he’d been in Kenya. Of course, that hadn’t stopped him from what he’d done to her…

  Abby didn’t allow her libido to dwell on it. Her heart rate was already dangerously high from the removal of his sweatshirt, memories of what they did in Oyana’s sister’s house would surely put her over the edge. She watched as he posed his arms in a stretch, then a muscular imitation of a Mr. Universe pose.

  She was toast. If he popped that ring out, she wouldn’t be able to say no, not while she was staring at the biceps that peeked out from underneath the sleeves of his too-tight t-shirt.

  No, the t-shirt wasn’t too tight. He was just that big.

  “Wow,” she said. “You’ve been working out.”

  “Is that supposed to be some sort of pick up line?”

  “Is it working?”

  “Heck, yeah.”

  CHAPTER EIGHTY-NINE

  THEY ended up eating peanut butter and jelly sandwiches in front of a roaring fireplace, neither of them stepping up to put their sweatshirts back on. Abby groaned about her work at the hospital, while Sean groaned about his multitude of appointments with therapists, surgeons, and psychiatrists. He filled her in on his time in the Kenyan jail, which she was sure was much worse than he was telling her, but the mood was pleasant, and she didn’t want to ruin it.

  Two hours later, Abby found herself comfortably ensconced in his arms, leaning against his back as he poked at the remnants of their fire.

  “Should we put another log on?” Abby asked.

  “I have to go.”

  She turned her head, tipping it against his shoulder. “Why so soon?”

  “Meeting,” he said. His voice was unemotional, his face blank.

  “I don’t want to know?” she asked.

  “You don’t want to know.”

  Abby sighed. Part of her wanted to shake him and tell him that this was why she was still mad at him, but then, he’d just told her exactly why he didn’t feel sorry about not keeping her in the loop. Perhaps he was right, it was better if she didn’t know.

  She closed her eyes and let the warmth of the dwindling fire mix with the heat of Sean’s core and vent through her body. “This feels so good. I don’t want you to leave.”

  She felt his fingers caress her back and reach up her neck into her hair. He tipped her head gently and placed his lips softly on her neck. “I want to kiss you on your sweet lips,” he said.

  “Then do it.” Her voice was a whisper. This time not due to a damaged larynx, but a heart that was bursting to ten times its size.

  He continued to press his lips gently along her neck, to her ear, and then moved her hair to visit the other side. Her body was tingling, and she could barely breathe.

  “I’ll wait,” he said.

  Abby jerked back, almost hitting his nose with the back of her head. “You’ll wait? What do you mean, you’ll wait?” She shifted position, turning her body to face him.

  Sean reached his hands around
, grabbing her by the bottom and slid her towards him until she was practically perched in his lap. “I’ll wait until you say yes. Until you’re officially mine.”

  Was that it? Was he popping the question again? Abby wondered if he had the ring hidden somewhere.

  No, she wasn’t going to answer him. He needed to ask properly. Besides, he was heading out to some unknown meeting - and Abby was still mad about the lies. Really mad. She shoved out of his arms and stepped away from the warm fire towards the couch.

  “You’re as stubborn as your father,” he joked, then pulled the sweatshirt off the coffee table and slid it over his shoulders, covering the magnificent biceps and captivating abs. She had been tempted several times to reach under his t-shirt and cop a feel of what those developed muscles had turned into. But she knew there would be no holding her back after that, so she’d refrained.

  Of course, it looked as though Sean had his own ideas about their relationship. No kissing until she said yes? It was absurd, but she wouldn’t be the one to cave, she was going to make him suffer.

  “Okay then,” she said, stretching seductively on the couch, hoping the t-shirt and jeans combination wasn’t completely unsexy. “Have fun at your meeting.”

  The smoldering look in Sean’s eyes was evidence that her evil plan had some merit.

  “You will say yes,” he said, cocking that infuriating eyebrow.

  “Not if you keep going to secret meetings and leaving me not knowing where you are.”

  The statement reduced the temperature in the room by ten degrees. She tried to bite the words back in, but Sean was already striding to the foyer. “With that said,” he responded. “I’m going out of town. While I’m gone, know that my offer still stands. Your response via text is completely acceptable.” Then he disappeared around the corner.

  CHAPTER NINETY

  IT was a good thing that Sean was gone, because his presence would have only served to distract Abby from her work at the hospital. They were wrapping up details for an upcoming conference, in which prominent surgeons from other countries would be speaking and collaborating. Somehow, Abby got stuck with the job of communications director. It seemed to be her lot in life as far as career goals went. First, in Kenya, and now, here at Memorial.

  Several times, she considered mentioning to Dr. Bing that the requirements of her clinical rotations were not being addressed. It only took a two second reminder from the back of her brain that she would be stuck diagnosing strep throat if she wasn’t poring over emails and response letters for the conference. She relented and continued her work of recommending hotel accommodations and providing what amounted to concierge service to the physicians that would be attending.

  On the plus side, Dr. Bing had allowed Abby to invite Dr. Otieno to the conference. She was looking forward not only to seeing him again but providing the staff of Memorial Hospital an insight into the steps that South Mission had taken during the doctor’s strike last year. Surely, the spoiled masses in America would be unlikely to work eighteen-hour days for months on end without suing somebody.

  She was surprised when halfway through the day, Dr. Bing told her to go home early. He’d made the excuse that he was suffering from some sort of G.I. problem, and he seemed pale and jittery, so Abby didn’t argue with him. She was just glad to get a few hours to dive back into some of the studies she’d fallen behind on.

  Arriving home, Abby noted a multitude of unfamiliar cars in the driveway. She almost continued around the turnabout in order to skitter away from whatever was going on, but the sight of Sean’s Audi in the drive veered her to the garage instead. Once the garage door closed behind her, Abby continued to sit and gather her thoughts, preparing her facial expression for whatever mood she decided to portray.

  Should she be mad at him for leaving so long with only a few texts between them? Of course, that wasn’t all Sean’s fault. Abby was making an attempt at a cold shoulder and had refused to respond half the time.

  Should she be seductively amorous, and sidle up to him with a long kiss and arms wrapped around his body? Not likely. By the looks of the government issued cars in the front of the house, half of Dad’s old senatorial staff would be present, and Abby surely wasn’t about to make lascivious moves towards Sean in front of that group.

  Maybe she’d just be casually happy to see him. Long time, no see. How you been, friend? Yes, that would be it. She wouldn’t let on either way. Let him stew in his wonderings about her opinion of his arrival. She didn’t care.

  Abby opened the door with confidence and pulled her tote bag out of the trunk before her traitorous heart mentioned the fact that she was covered in goosebumps and a sheen of sweat in anticipation of seeing him again.

  Down, girl. No jumping him in the presence of politics.

  She entered the back hall and heard soft voices in the family room. With a sigh of relief, she walked towards her room to freshen up before heading into the pack of wolves.

  “Abigail?” It was James McCarrin.

  “Hi,” she said, attempting to avoid the disappointment that he’d caught her escape attempt. “Dr. Bing let me off a few hours early,” she tried to explain, certain that James was fully aware of her schedule.

  “We need you in the family room,” he stated. Apparently, Dr. Bing’s G.I. Problem had been fabricated by the NSA. Abby couldn’t tell by James’ tone if he was still in ‘work mode’ or if something tragic had occurred. Her gut wrenched, and her heart began to beat frantically. “Is it Dad?”

  “Your father’s fine,” he said, then his face softened a bit in the dim light of the hallway. “I’ll give you ten minutes.”

  Abby knew that it was the closest thing James could come to softness at the moment. She noted that he seemed more on edge than usual, and nodded her head in agreement, quickly rushing off to make the most use of ten minutes.

  After fifteen, she was still standing in front of her bathroom mirror. She’d washed her face, brushed her teeth, straightened the mess of hair that had taken over during her shift, and applied a light smattering of makeup. And then she’d stared, not knowing which face to put on. Sean was here. So was James and a gathering of people she wasn’t familiar with. She didn’t know what was going on but could tell by the vibes coming off of James’ statement that it wasn’t good.

  The fact that James was in Florida at all during the workweek was enough of a red alert to get her nerves on edge. He was usually at the office in Baltimore, only flying home every other weekend, or during special circumstances - like this one.

  “Honey? Are you okay?”

  “Yes, Mom. Be right out.” Her throat was beginning to habitually close up with anxiety. If she didn’t get herself together soon, she wouldn’t leave any ability to have a conversation with the group in the family room. Maybe that would be best though. Abby had a feeling that it was going to be one of those partisan conversations where she had little input.

  She glanced once more in the mirror and did a few yoga breaths before stepping out of the bathroom.

  Mom’s face was in actress mode, giving nothing away, but her hand held Abby’s in a tight grip as they walked down the hallway. James had said that it wasn’t Dad, but what if it was Sean? Had he reverted back into Angry Sean and shot somebody in a parking garage? Or maybe he’d gone off on some hero mission in Syria and had managed to get his diaphragm busted open again. She bit her lip and prepared herself to see him broken and bloody on the couch, surrounded by medical personnel. But instead, he stood quietly at the fireplace; professionally cut, navy blue business suit adorning his body, tie loosened, and top shirt-button undone, a half-filled glass of scotch in his hand. Abby watched as the glass moved to his mouth and he took a sip.

  Something was very wrong.

  CHAPTER NINETY-ONE

  HER bottom hit the seat of the couch before thoughts could process in her mind.

  She looked around and saw Dad sitting in his wheelchair, a stern, but concerned look on his face. He too, had a half-f
illed glass of scotch next to him. Jerome was there as well, and Abby could see that his dark face was even darker with whatever the current mood was presenting throughout the room.

  Suddenly, the air was stifling, and Abby had to concentrate on forcing oxygen in and out of her throat. She didn’t ask what was going on. She couldn’t have if she’d tried. Talking was not an option.

  Seven men were sitting or standing around the room. She recognized two of them as Dad’s security team, but the others were only blurs through her unfocused eyes. Mom handed her a glass of wine and she gladly sipped half of it down as conversation drifted from the winter weather to an eerie silence.

  “Abigail,” James started. He sat down on the coffee table in front of her. “I’m not going to waste your time explaining details.”

  Thank goodness. With the short and ineffective breaths her lungs were receiving, Abby wasn’t sure she would last more than five minutes.

  “One of our teams, led by Director Schmidt…,” he waved a hand towards a man in glasses with a receding hairline and handsome face. “…has been intercepting communications from… well, for the past years…”

  She could see that James was deliberating on his words. Trying to weigh the balance between what she needed to know, and extraneous details that would only fill up the gaps between pertinent information.

  “There’s been another threat to your life,” he said.

  Abby sighed in relief. Two years ago, that would have scared her socks off, but having gone through the life experiences she’d encountered recently, death threats were now the least of her worries.

  “As you know,” James continued. “Your mother’s movie role is a shoe-in for an Academy Award nomination.”

  Abby glanced at Mom’s face. There was no usual glow of humble appreciation, only a faraway stare at the blinds that covered the windows of the now too-small family room. The walls were closing in, and Abby wasn’t sure why.

  “According to our sources, an operation is scheduled to commence during the weeks that lead up to the evening of the Awards ceremony. The reason we believe you may be involved is that the code word they use for you was communicated. We feel that it is intended to be a message not only to your family, but to other… people as well.”