Given New Worlds

by Rachael Sircar

  Sean ran his fingers into her hair and stepped closer, pressing his body against hers. He tipped his head down to press his cheek into her own. “Okay, but know… you are safe now.”

  She nodded her head and shivered, not knowing if it was the cool temperature of the glass, or Sean’s foreboding words.

  Sean sighed, stepped back, and sat heavily on the edge of the couch. Then he looked at her with what seemed to be like saddened eyes before continuing. “During your time in Kenya, you came across several high level militant groups. They tend to favor the private hospitals over public. Less transparency. You rescued several terrorist leaders from their imminent deaths due to surgeries in which you assisted. You’ve also unknowingly been involved in several communications between a few overzealous insurgents along with Al-Shabaab’s core members. Your dad’s influence is the only thing keeping you from being put in front of a congressional investigative committee.”

  Abby dropped back against the window, the heaviness of Sean’s words pressing down on her like a ten-ton weight. “That can’t be true.”

  “And it can’t be true that you’ve been targeted by a well-known crime syndicate in New York? It can’t be true that you’ve been hunted your entire life? Don’t tell me that you’re at this level of denial, because you are about to be involved in an NSA terrorist sting that will not accept refutation.”

  “I was helping people, Sean.” Abby felt the ache in her heart. How could everything she’d done have been wrong. “When people came in to that hospital, we treated them. It didn’t matter who they were or what they did. They were all just people to me.”

  Sean looked away and crossed his arms in front of his chest. “You remember me telling you about my time in Syria?”

  “Yes.”

  “Do you understand why all those doctors were killed? Why all those hospitals have been bombed to rubble?” he asked, not expecting an answer. “Because they treated the wrong people, Jamie.” He turned back towards her and aimed a focused gaze into her eyes. “But the decision on who the wrong people are only depends on which side you’re really on.”

  CHAPTER NINETY-EIGHT

  ABBY spent the rest of the night curled up in Sean’s arms, wrapped in his sweatpants and a t-shirt with Marine Corps emblazoned across her chest. It felt so right, like she was exactly where she was supposed to be. In the morning, she made him coffee, and they kissed until they had to descend the elevator to begin the morning commute.

  “I love this so much,” Abby said as Sean slammed on his brakes to avoid a Mustang that zipped into the lane in front of them.

  “Rush hour?” he asked. “You’ve lost your mind.”

  “No,” she laughed. “Me making you coffee, you driving me to work, last night, in your arms.”

  Sean smiled and tipped his head towards her. “Yes, I loved last night too. I can’t wait until we do it real time.”

  A tickle of excitement ran through her body, knowing that this man would be hers for the rest of her life. It was like paradise. But, she’d thought that before… and ended up being away from him for over a year. Nothing was for sure.

  “Don’t go there, Jamie.”

  She glanced at Sean, who was watching her out of the corner of his eye as he maneuvered through traffic.

  “You don’t know what I’m thinking,” she pointed out.

  “You’re thinking about the future.”

  She didn’t bother denying it.

  “You’re trying to control it, but that’s not where God wants you. Once you accept the fact that He’s in control, you’ll feel better.”

  Abby wondered what kind of control God had over NSA terrorist stings and congressional investigative committees. For Sean’s sake, she shook the thoughts from her mind and discussed traffic and weather instead, but she was fully aware that Sean knew her anxieties were fully in place.

  They arrived at the hospital and she immediately saw where security had been beefed up. A guard was at each entrance and she even caught movement on the roof of the building. “I wonder how much this is costing the taxpayers,” she muttered as she and Sean walked into Dr. Bing’s offices. Sean just laughed and gave her a kiss, swatting her on the bottom before heading to the neurology wing.

  “Miss Ellwood. We have a lot to do today.” Dr. Bing didn’t waste time with words like ‘Hello’.

  “I need you to go through the files and pull the seating charts for the lunches and presentations. I’ve just received word that Dr. Ellis and that psychiatrist from California are not on speaking terms, so you need to find a way to keep them far away from each other during the seminars and meals.” He walked out the door, leaving Abby staring at the stack of paperwork on the desk.

  After several seconds, his head popped back into the doorway. “And your Dr. Otieno arrived from Kenya this morning. Try to set up a meeting with him for this afternoon.”

  She watched him leave, but then listened to his footsteps backtrack for a third time. “And LaToya’s sick today, so I need you to take over her patient work.”

  Abby waited for a full three minutes, wondering if Dr. Bing would return with more orders, before sitting in the rolling chair and placing her forehead on the desk. Her head was pounding, and she felt like her eyes were made out of sandpaper. Maybe if she just closed her eyes for twenty seconds…

  “Miss Jamie!”

  Abby jerked her head up, only to see the jovial face of Dr. Otieno greeting her in the doorway. She looked at the clock and noted that she’d been asleep for over an hour.

  She stood and stealthily wiped the sleep from her eyes before stepping out into the hallway. “Dr. Otieno. It’s so good to see you again.”

  She held her hand out, but instead he crushed her into a hug and planted a kiss on the top of her head. “You are sorely missed at South Mission Hospital. Mama Zawadi wanted to send large amounts of food, but the airline would not allow this.”

  Abby laughed, imagining that Mama Zawadi would do anything to get Abby to bulk up on her delicious cooking. “My mouth is watering already. Next time, maybe you can sneak it on the plane.”

  “Yes. This is a deal.”

  Abby found herself naturally switching back and forth from Swahili to English as she talked with Dr. Otieno, gleaning unusual glances from the nurses.

  Eventually, Dr. Bing stepped into the hallway. “Miss Ellwood? Good. You’re awake. I need to you to work on those seating arrangements, but first take care of those patient charts for LaToya. No time to dally.”

  “Dr. Bing, this is Dr. Otieno, from South Mission Hospital in Kenya.”

  “Yes, Miss Jamie…” Dr. Otieno said with a laugh in his eyes. “I’m sorry - I mean Miss Ellwood, Dr. Bing and I have already been acquainted. I see that you are in much capable hands here in America. We shall conference at a later time. I will let you do this paperwork while I assist Dr. Bing with this antibiotic dilemma.”

  She hoped that the doctors wouldn’t be stuck like glue all day. Questions for Dr. Otieno about her unknown involvement with terrorist leaders were on the tip of her tongue and she needed to get him alone.

  By lunch, Abby had finished the tasks Dr. Bing had assigned to her and went in search of Dr. Otieno. She found both men in the conference room reviewing stacks of documents. “Dr. Otieno,” she said, knocking lightly on the doorframe. “Today they’re serving Fried Shrimp Po Boy sandwiches in the cafeteria. It’s enough to give Mama Zawadi inspiration for a new menu item.”

  “I should like some of this fried shrimp,” he said with a smile, then turned to Dr. Bing. “You will be joining us, brother?”

  “Oh, no, no. You go ahead.” Dr. Bing waved his hand, still sorting through paperwork; his reading glasses perched precariously on the tip of his nose. “But make sure she’s back to her rounds by one-thirty.”

  Abby led Dr. Otieno through the cafeteria line and celebrated in his appreciation of the sandwich. It was good to be able to provide him something of joy after he’d done so much for her. They conversed abou
t South Mission Hospital, additional medical equipment, and even Oyana’s new husband, but these weren’t the things that were nudging at Abby’s conscience. Once conversation had stalled, she took a deep breath.

  “May I ask you several questions?” she said. “They’ll be off the book, of course. I certainly wouldn’t hold the information against you or the hospital.”

  “This sounds like an imposing demand. How about you ask the question, and I shall decide then whether the answer would benefit you to a degree that the sacrifice on my behalf will not be in vain.”

  “When I was helping with the surgeries… during the doctor’s strike, and maybe even a few that I did afterwards, were there any terrorists that may have benefitted from the operations?”

  Dr. Otieno’s eyes narrowed in thought. He wiped his mouth with the paper napkin and set it next to his plate. “Terrorist can mean many things,” he said, then shut his mouth with a glance around the cafeteria.

  Abby lowered her voice and spoke in Swahili, wanting to ensure Dr. Otieno that he could speak freely. “Was there anyone that may have been an enemy of the United States?”

  Again, he didn’t reply.

  She tried a different tactic. “Is it possible that I may have operated on someone that I wouldn’t have liked if I had met them casually?”

  That must have met Dr. Otieno’s standard for questioning, because he smiled and pointed a finger at her. “Yes. This is possible.”

  “Is it also possible that I may have facilitated some communications that were beyond my common knowledge as an office clerk?”

  “Yes. This too is possible.”

  “As far as you know, was I targeted in any way at the hospital? For something… I don’t know… like maybe kidnapping?”

  The smile left his face. “You were in grave danger more times than a few.”

  “So I’ve been told.” Abby sipped the last of her tea and glanced at the clock. The hospital cafeteria was neither the time nor place for a formal inquiry, so she would just have to assume that Sean hadn’t been exaggerating last night.

  “I guess I should get going to do those rounds, or Dr. Bing will have my head.”

  “Yes, he will certainly do this,” Dr. Otieno agreed, clearly pleased that he would no longer have to discuss Abby’s lack of safety during her time in Kenya, nor her contribution to several situations that could potentially put Dr. Otieno on the FBI’s most watched list.

  CHAPTER NINETY-NINE

  THE conference was a formal event, and Mom had made sure that Abby wouldn’t be seen in any dresses or jewelry that had been previously featured in the celebrity style section. They’d managed to dig up an evening dress that Abby hadn’t had the opportunity to wear. Mom was upset that it was last season’s, but once Abby pointed out that most of the attendees would be wearing off the rack, Mom’s arguments died down. The dress was a dark blue satin with lace and beading that accentuated the few curves Abby had gained through encouragement from Mom, Dad, and whoever else could manage to shove a few mouthfuls of food into her before she pushed her plate away. Mom’s seamstress had offered up a few swear words when trying to decide how to adjust the bust-line, but Mom had insisted on the dress for the dinner event.

  Abby stood in front of the mirror gazing at the new woman that stood in front of her. It seemed as though Abigail Ellwood was always becoming something different. As if God was continuing to remake her and grow her into a new being. This Abby was thin, but not gaunt like she’d been in Kenya. Turning around, Abby saw how the blue lace covered her back just enough that the scars would not be evident to casual onlookers. If someone were to stare, or if they would shine a bright light on to her back, they’d be able to see the flaws in her skin, but heightened security would be present to prevent any paparazzi from entering the building.

  According to Director Schmidt, the doctor’s convention was low on the priority list for any potential threats, and Abby was able to relax. She knew that they were gearing up for the Academy Award announcement next month and she needed to be able to breathe for a week or two before all hands were on deck and she became the main target.

  So Abby allowed herself to be primped and prepared by one of Mom’s stylists Friday afternoon at Veena’s place. Even Dr. Bing had given Abby the afternoon off, though it was surely due to the nudging of Mrs. Bing and her knowledge of how long it took for a woman to prepare properly for a formal occasion.

  “That dress makes your butt look hot,” Veena announced as she stepped into the kitchen wearing a jade green and fuchsia sari. She’d incorporated a matching bhindi and jewelry that accentuated her dark, golden skin, and if she wasn’t so tiny, she would have appeared to be a model ready for the red carpet.

  “You look gorgeous yourself,” Abby said, trying not to move while the stylist put the finishing touches on her hair.

  “I can just picture Sean’s face when he sees you. He’s not going to be able to keep his hands off.”

  “Well, he’d better,” the stylist grumbled, his accent barely making the jump from Italian to English. “It only takes ten minutes to destroy this piece of art that took me two hours to create.”

  “I bet it’ll only take five,” Veena joked under her breath.

  Spence had a family event out of town and wouldn’t be attending, so Veena planned on being Dr. Otieno’s informal escort throughout the evening. She’d heard about his work in Kenya and was dying to pick his brain.

  Sean arrived at six o’clock in order to escort them to the dinner. Abby could hear the tapping of his shoes as he walked from foyer, to hallway, to kitchen. He usually wore Converse or tactical boots, but the taps of these steps were more likened to the shoes her dad used to wear - when he’d been able to walk. It was a sentimental sound, and Abby had to hold back the moisture in her eyes for fear that the stylist would have a conniption.

  “Wow.” Sean’s voice came out in something between a gasp and a whisper. Abby was dying to turn around, but hairspray was flying at her from two different directions and she didn’t dare flinch. “You look incredible.”

  “I told you!” Veena said, clapping her hands in agreement.

  “Mr. Court,” the stylist warned. “You will not damage my artwork tonight.”

  “Not until after,” he said, now with a slight growl.

  “Five minutes,” Veena giggled.

  Eventually, the stylist was satisfied with the gallon of hairspray that had cemented her locks into place and Abby was able to turn around. Sean was magnificent. He wore a custom-fitted tuxedo, most likely due to encouragement from Mom. His hair had been trimmed, but a stylish stubble accentuated his strong jaw and turned him into a man that the cameras were going to drool over.

  “Wow yourself,” Abby said.

  Sean lifted his arms into a Mr. Universe pose.

  Abby laughed, but her heart wasn’t in it. She’d seen the holster on his belt and knew that a gun would be in place during the event. She appreciated the fact that he was currently only wearing the holster, but the thought that they weren’t completely out of danger unnerved her and she shuddered.

  He must have noticed her anxiousness, because he stepped towards her and took her hands gently. “It’s going to be a fun evening,” he said. “Maybe we’ll run into Mrs. Bosworth and I’ll get some inside information on how much money her late husband made in the gastroenterology field.”

  His attempt at lightening the mood worked. Abby’s thoughts flitted from that of Sean having to be her own personal bodyguard, to that of their date to the Swan Lake performance where Mrs. Bosworth had cornered them and Abby had first learned of Sean’s ability to appease the masses. She looked him over once again, and an excitement that very much resembled lust pounded through her nerve endings.

  Yes. It was going to be a fun evening.

  Veena insisted on sitting in the front seat with the driver while Sean and Abby sat in the back. It took everything in Abby’s power not to scoot up next to him and wrap her arms around the most gorgeous
man she’d ever seen, but she was well aware that her touch would lead to his touch, which would lead to something that Mom’s stylist surely would not approve of.

  Instead, they simply held fingertips, breathing through the heavy sexual tension that filled the back seat. Sean was wearing his prosthesis and his last two fingers were gripping tight around her hand. She repositioned her wrist, and his hand ended up on her thigh instead. Glancing at his grin, she knew that it had been on purpose. As they drove, Sean’s hand crept further up her thigh. She tried to push it off without distracting Veena and the driver from their conversation about antique car restoration, but Sean’s superhand was evidently too powerful for her to budge, and he managed to secure it at the junction of her hip and thigh. Grateful for the tight fit of the dress between his fingers and her skin, she wondered what he would have done had the fabric been more pliable.

  “You’d better not sweat,” Sean whispered. “Mr. Italian Stylist will ram you through with a makeup brush.”

  Abby inwardly groaned. It was true. She could feel the perspiration begin to form on her forehead. It wasn’t due to the heavy wrap that she had over her shoulders - it was Sean’s touch.

  “I want you to wear this dress again after we’re married,” he whispered into her ear. His breath was thick with hunger and his hand pressed firmly into her inner thigh. “And then I want to take it off.”

  The last statement destroyed Abby. She was now in a full flush and could feel beads of moisture on her temple. “I have a handkerchief in my left pocket,” Sean growled quietly, “but I’m not moving my hand to get it.”

  Abby took a breath and reached into his jacket to retrieve the handkerchief. She heard Sean’s intake of breath as she leaned in. The hours in front of her now seemed like a torture session. How would she get through it without wrapping herself around Sean and demanding that he take her home?

  A few dabs of the handkerchief solved the problem of her shiny face, but the heat in her core wasn’t going away anytime soon and Abby knew it was going to be a long night.