“Every soda I’ve had since reminded me of you.” We’re almost to the kitchen now, and her shoulders are no longer hiked up around her ears. “Sit down and relax, buttercup. Can I get you a blanket?” I ask as I gesture to the overstuffed brown couch.
“N-no. I’m okay.”
She’s not, but satisfied that she’s at least not cold, I head into the kitchen and check the fridge. Perfect. I owe Trevor’s contact big time. “You still do like eggs-in-a-basket, don’t you?”
“I…” Her cheeks catch fire, and she fights a smile. “I stopped ordering them years ago. No one could ever make them like you used to.”
Pride wells in my chest, followed by a brief stab of regret. It used to be Joey’s favorite meal. Every time we spent the night together, I’d make it for her. “Do you want one egg or two?”
“One.” Her voice lowers almost to a whisper, but I don’t miss the longing in her tone. “I haven’t had a full meal since they took us. If I eat too much, I’ll be sick.”
I go to work, starting a pot of coffee, cutting holes in pieces of bread, turning on the stove, and adding a generous pat of butter, salt, and a pinch of paprika to the griddle pan. “When Trevor and Nomar get here, we’ll head to Kabul and then figure out how we’re getting back to the States.”
“They…he…took my passport.” Joey twists the hem of her tunic in nervous fingers as I crack the eggs into their respective baskets. “Customs won’t let me in…”
“We won’t be going through Customs.” Running a hand through my hair, I meet her gaze. “There’s a lot you don’t know about me, Joey. So much that’s…changed. Dax and I…when we started Second Sight, we agreed on one very important thing.” Pausing to give my next words the weight they deserve, I brace my hands on the counter. “Breaking the law is acceptable—if it saves someone’s life.”
Questions swirl in her eyes, their blue depths paling, along with her cheeks. “Do you mean…killing people?”
“Not unless they’re about to kill us. But the auctioneer? His guards? They’re dead. Nomar and Trevor…they did most of the killing. But my hands aren’t clean either. Not by a longshot.” We’re getting dangerously close to the one subject I’m terrified to discuss: our breakup twenty years ago. Flipping the toast over, I let the eggs sizzle for a brief moment, then slide them onto plates.
“You were in Iraq,” she says softly as I set the dish in front of her on the coffee table, then return to the kitchen for coffee. “I know what happens in war, Ford. And why you wouldn’t talk to me that night.”
The empty mug in my hand crashes to the floor, shattering into a dozen pieces. Joey springs up, sways for a minute, then limps into the kitchen and drops to her knees at the edge of the destruction as I stand there, mouth dry, trying to find the words to tell her everything I couldn’t all those years ago.
“Don’t move.” She gathers the shards, dumps them in the trash, and then steps close enough to reach up and touch my cheek. “I never blamed you.”
Her eyes shimmer, her lower lip wobbling as her hand slides to the back of my neck.
“Don’t say that. If I hadn’t been such an ass—”
My protest dies as she ghosts her lips over mine. It’s the briefest of touches, so light I fear I imagined it. Until she pulls away, her cheeks blazing. “I’m sorry. I just…”
“You never need to apologize for that, buttercup.” Tangling my fingers in her hair, I dip my head, pausing just a breath away to let her set the tone, but this time when our lips meet, there’s no mistaking the taste of her, or how much I want her to know…everything.
Joey wipes away a tear as she turns away and heads for the couch, and fuck. I want to haul her into my arms and confess all my sins. But I’m too much of a coward, so I snag a second mug, then sink down a foot away from her on the cushions.
Balancing the plate on her knees, she looks like she’s about to cry again, and desperate for a distraction, I pick up my fork. “I have a secret ingredient. Want to know what it is?”
“If I find out,” she says as she cuts into the egg and toast, “there’s no reason for you to make this for me ever again.” The sadness in her voice opens a thousand cracks in my heart. Her eyelids flutter as she takes her first bite, and a tiny moan escapes her curved lips.
“That’s the only reason I need. Right there.”
“What?” The word is muffled through her second forkful, but she blinks up at me, the little furrow between her brows deepening.
“That look on your face. I’d do anything to see that every day.”
Sitting next to her, watching the pure joy spread across her delicate features…it’s like every dream I’ve ever had. Except for the fading bruises on her cheek and the dark circles under her eyes.
She swallows hard and sets her fork down. “Don’t, Ford.”
“Don’t what?” There isn’t one single thing I wouldn’t do to erase the sorrow in her eyes, but everything I say…it’s all wrong.
“Don’t make me want what I can never have. Once I get home, this—” she gestures to the plate then to me, “—will turn into nothing but a memory.”
She really thinks I’ll leave her. “It doesn’t have to. Where’s home?”
“Just outside of Boston. A little town called Quincy.”
I stop with a piece of toast halfway to my mouth. “You’re joking.”
“Why would I joke about something like that? I’ve worked at St. Jude’s Research Hospital for the past five years. They let me take a sabbatical to work with Doctors Without Borders.” Lifting the mug of coffee to her lips, she takes a tentative sip, and the jolt of caffeine lifts a little of the dark shroud hanging over us. “Oh, I’ve missed this. The only coffee we could make in the camp—before—was instant. It was like flavored water.”
“I live in Boston.” The admission slips out before I can stop it, and Joey sputters, coffee dribbling down her chin as she frantically grabs for her napkin. “Second Sight is in the South End. I have an apartment in Charleston.”
“We…we could have run into one another on the T.”
I brush my fingers over hers. “If I’d known…I would have found you years ago. Joey…we could have—”
She pushes her plate away, a look on her face I can’t read. Her fingers curl over her tunic, right below her neck, and she scoots back a few inches. “When…Faruk told me why he’d taken me…that he wanted me to cure his son…I knew. I knew I’d die there.” Her voice cracks, and she holds up her hand when I try to reach for her. “He wanted me to create this drug cocktail I’d written a paper about when I was in my final year of residency. I theorized that a specific course of treatment might be able to cure the disease his son has—thalassemia. It’s a blood disorder.”
Wobbling to her feet, she limps over to the window and opens the drapes a crack, as if she’s desperate to see the sun.
“I told him I couldn’t. That his son needed a bone marrow transplant.” Her fingers flutter over the bruise on her cheek. “That was the first time he hit me.”
“Joey—”
She shakes her head. “Please, let me finish.” I press my lips together, waiting, and she sighs. “We spent at least eighteen hours trapped in a van. Dawn until dark the first day, then…a few days after they took Ivy and Mia away, there was another full day. I couldn’t see where we were going. Couldn’t speak or even move.”
A full body shudder shakes her thin frame, and she presses her fist against her heart. “When we crossed the border into Afghanistan, they forced me into this…metal box. It was barely big enough to lie down in, and I couldn’t breathe. I passed out, thank God. I think it would have broken me.”
I can’t sit still any longer. Not while every word screams pain. Unsure if she’ll let me hold her or comfort her, I lean against the opposite side of the window, offering her anything I can—all that I am—as she hugs herself tightly.
“Faruk planned everything. These clothes?” Joey tugs at the bottom of her tunic. “They’re
my size. The slippers? Fit perfectly. He stole me away in the middle of the night, along with Ivy and Mia—just because they were young and pretty and in the wrong place at the wrong time—killed the rest of my team, and told me one of two things would happen. Either I’d cure his son and I’d have some semblance of a life—inside the compound walls, or I’d fail, and he’d kill me.”
Her fear bleeds through every word, every movement. She clenches her bandaged hand, trying desperately to dig her nails into her skin through the gauze. But as I take a step closer, she forces her fingers to uncurl.
“All I wanted,” she whispers, “when I was alone at night—in that basement or in the little room Faruk locked me in—was to see you again. Just once. To get a chance to tell you…” Her watery gaze meets mine, and my heart shatters. “You were the best part of my life. And I threw it all away.”
Before I can reach her, she turns on her heel and limps off into the bedroom. The bathroom door shuts with a bang, and I start after her, until the radio clicks on, and Trevor’s voice booms through the air.
“Tango to Foxtrot. I’m five minutes out. Don’t shoot me.”
Shit.
I can’t go after her. Not when Trev’s almost here. But as soon as I confirm he wasn’t followed and we’re still safe, I have to tell her how I feel. All of it. Whatever happens afterwards, she deserves to know.
13
Ford
The alarm beeps as Trevor pulls a scooter into the small garage, and I disable the tripwire and unlock the door. He’s favoring his left leg a bit as he limps up the two steps into the flat.
“What the hell happened?” I ask as I secure the door behind him.
“I couldn’t find him.” Trevor shuffles over to the couch, picks up Joey’s half-eaten plate of eggs and toast, and raises a brow.
“Yeah. Go ahead. I’ll make her another when she’s hungry.” That is if she ever lets me cook for her again after running away from me. And fuck me. I’m doing the same damn thing I did twenty years ago. Ignoring this thing between us because I’m too scared to talk to her.
Returning my focus to Trevor, I shake my head. “What do you mean you ‘couldn’t find him’? You went to the backup rendezvous point?”
“No, I went to Disneyland.” He shoots me a look like I’m the dumbest shit on the planet, then shoves a huge bite of eggy toast into his mouth. I don’t even think he chewed the damn thing. “Faruk’s men showed up after a couple of hours. I killed two of them, got the shit beat out of me, and took off. I managed to get Nomar on comms for about thirty seconds, and he said he was on the move. Gave the codeword, so at least at 4:00 a.m., he was safe.”
“So what do we do now?” With a frown, I check my watch. We’re supposed to be out of here in a couple of hours, and I’m not ready for this private time with Joey to end. Once we’re back on the transport plane…I’m terrified I’ll lose her all over again.
Glancing toward the closed bedroom door, I run a hand over the back of my neck. “Listen, Joey’s spooked, and I need to go talk to her. She’s going to want to know what’s going on.”
Trevor rubs the back of his neck. “We’re staying here for another twenty-four hours. If Nomar doesn’t show by then…we’ll go back to Kabul and take the first plane out of here.”
Joey
Cracking the door, I listen to the sounds of the two men in the living room. I can’t make out the words, though. I want to go out there. Find out why only Trevor came back. If Nomar didn’t make it, that’s one more death that’s my fault.
I don’t know how to do this. How to live with what I’ve done. All the terrible things that happened because of me. Because of my choices. If I’d never left Ford’s apartment that morning… If I’d suggested a different bar for the bachelorette party… If I’d taken any of Ford’s calls, read any of his letters…
A sob sticks in my throat, and I close the bathroom door, then lean against the sink and stare at myself in the mirror. I don’t recognize the woman looking back at me. Too thin. Too tired. Gently, I probe my swollen cheek. The dark purple bruises are starting to fade, bits of yellow seeping in around the edges.
The sound of the slap echoes in my memories. It was louder than I expected. And then…quieter as the stars obscured my vision and I fell. Duller. And the pain went on…forever. My eyes burn, and I turn my back on the broken, hollow woman in front of me.
A stack of towels rests under the sink, and I use one to cover the mirror as I turn on the shower. I hope Ford’s right and there are no cameras here. But…I can’t help my paranoia. I just want to be safe.
Piece by piece, I strip and shove the clothes in the trash. Maybe Ford can find a way to burn them. The headscarf too. Stepping into the spray, I sigh. The water feels like heaven, but as I sink my hands into my hair to wash away the grime, the bruises all along my back flare, and I suck in a sharp breath, choke on the water running down my face, and double over coughing.
The position—hands on my knees—makes me want to throw up. All I can see are the dozens of tiny scars curving outward from my inner thighs. Years of cutting myself to try to feel…something…anything…and even though I’d stopped—before Faruk’s men stole me away—the scars will never fade.
Panic tightens my chest, a hard ball of ice squeezing my heart. My raw throat protests the air I force through it, and I sink down onto my ass, wrapping my arms around my legs, and let the water wash away my tears. I’ll never be normal. Never be able to love him. To let him love me. We live in the same city. How can I even go back there knowing I could run into him anytime?
The water starts to cool, and I push myself up, rush through washing my hair and body, and step out onto the mat, shivering, as I wrap myself in a towel.
“Joey?” Ford knocks on the door, and I clap my hand over my mouth to stifle my yelp. “Are you okay, buttercup?”
Buttercup.
He’s treating me like…we’re together again. Like no time has passed. Like…I’m still whole. Except, I’m not, and I never will be again. Sinking down with my back to the tub, I rest my forehead on my knees. “I need…to be alone, Ford.” He’ll hear the tears in my voice. He always could.
“Please, talk to me.”
“There’s…nothing…to say.” My stupidity did this. My pride. My fear. If I’d just let him keep his secrets. Or if I’d been willing to share mine. If I hadn’t managed to convince myself—despite my sister and mother’s assurances to the contrary—that the reason Ford didn’t contact me for a month was because he didn’t want a woman who’d been broken. Who’d been used and violated in the worst ways.
I tug on the chain around my neck, palming the engagement ring he gave me so many years ago. Just a simple band, studded with tiny diamonds and sapphires. Three of each.
The FBI agent with the kind eyes and shaggy black hair knocks as he peeks into my hospital room. “Miss Taylor? Do you mind if I come in?”
I hear him, but when I try to answer, I can’t force the words out. My sister takes my hand and gives it a gentle squeeze. “Joey, honey? It’s Agent Beckham. You remember him.”
Of course I do. I remember everything. But I don’t want to.
Agent Beckham approaches the bed slowly. His was the first face I saw after they killed Jefe. He wrapped me in a blanket—one of those weird insulating ones that almost crinkle—and carried me out of that railcar. God. Was that only yesterday?
“Miss Taylor, we finished processing the warehouse next to…” He shakes his head. “The warehouse the traffickers operated out of. Most of everyone’s personal effects were gone. But we recovered a few things.”
I draw in a sharp breath as he holds out his hand. My engagement ring. Sparkling clean. Ford. I wish he were here. I need him. But…I’m so…broken. Will he even want me? Tears cascade down my cheeks, and I stare at my broken finger. I can’t wear it. Not now. And I want to. So much.
“Thank you, Agent Beckham,” Gerry says as she takes the ring from him. “Joey’s…tired. But I know she�
��s happy to have this back.”
The agent quickly darts back out of the room, and the door closes with a quiet click.
“Joey? Honey? Look at me.” Gerry reaches behind her neck and unclasps her necklace. It’s a simple silver chain with a pearl pendant on it—something she got for her college graduation, I think. As I blink up at her, trying to will my body to stop crying, she removes the pendant and threads the chain through the ring. “Here you go. You’ll feel better having this on.”
As she secures the chain around my neck, I reach for the ring. And for a moment, all the pain, all the fear, all the terrible memories fade away, and I can pretend I’m not broken.
The memory leaves me gasping for air and gripping the ring so tightly, I’m afraid I’m going to crush it.
Heavy footsteps recede, and I blow out a breath. Until, a minute or two later, they’re back, and an envelope slides under the door.
“Oh, my God.” His bold handwriting slashes across the front with my shaky Return to sender scrawled over my name.
His letters. He wrote so many. A dozen, at least. And I returned each and every one of them. I was so stupid. He kept them. He brought them.
My eyes burn as I rip open the flap.
I started this at least ten times. Dear Joey, Dearest Joey, My love, My Joey, My angel, Buttercup… But none of them felt right, despite every single one of them being true.
There’s nothing I can say to take away your pain. There aren’t any words to make what happened to you okay. And even though I was doing my job, there’s no excuse for me not being there for you.
If I’d known…if I’d gotten Gerry’s message the day it arrived, I’d have been on the next plane. When I came back from Baghdad, I didn’t even pack. Told my CO I needed a lift to the States. Any state. I didn’t care. Just somewhere that would let me get to you.
I screwed up, Joey. And I’ll never forgive myself. But don’t you ever say you’re sorry again. You didn’t ask for any of this. All you asked was for my trust. And I failed you.
By Lethal Force Page 12
