When She's Gone

by Palmer, Jane;

  Several armed men came around the corner.

  Ara thrust Sam overboard, and she hit the water with a splash. The sky lit up with a brilliant, white light as Eddie’s boat exploded. A wave of heat rushed over her. Smoke, thick and viscous, immediately poured out from the remnants of the dinghy. The helicopter veered to the left, dangerously close to spiraling out of control.

  Ara passed one glance behind her. The men, momentarily thrown by the explosion, were now closing in fast. She had no other option.

  She tumbled into the sea. The sensation of icy cold water, and then blessed blackness.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

  Bright sunlight streamed into the hospital room, washing across her face. The view outside was beautiful, the fall colors of the trees in the courtyard vibrant. It would have been perfect if it weren’t for the multiple tubes and machines she was currently attached to.

  Ara tried to sit up higher in the bed, but even that simple movement made her wince as a sharp pain shot through her shoulder. With gentle fingers, she felt the bandage.

  “I would leave that there. Otherwise the doctors are going to tie you to the bed.” Luke strolled into the room, a half smile on his face.

  Ara leaned back against the pillow and smirked. “I’d like to see them try.”

  He laughed, the smile widening. “How are you feeling?”

  “Like I was shot and some sick, twisted doctor had the enjoyment of stitching me back together.”

  “And he’ll demand payment to boot, believe it or not.” He reached the side of her bed and took one of her hands in his. His palm was calloused and warm. He smelled like fresh air and sunshine. “We caught him.”

  She blinked, thrown off by his sudden shift in conversation. Then her eyes widened, and her own smile tugged at her mouth. “Really?”

  Luke nodded. “Just outside the Mexican border. Dmitri was a fool to think we wouldn’t find him.”

  “He didn’t expect me to survive long enough to tell anyone where he was going.”

  “I suppose not.”

  Ara patted the mattress, and Luke perched himself there. “There is something else I need to ask you about. I wanted to wait until you were stronger before—”

  “The scars.” Ara cut him off, knowing exactly which piece of the puzzle Luke still didn’t have.

  “Yes. How did he know so much about you, know that killing people in front of you was more damaging than physically harming you?”

  Ara took a deep breath, letting it out slowly. She hadn’t told this story to many people—the painfulness of it so embedded in her soul, it felt like a stone in her chest. Still, the burden, the secrets . . . they weren’t helping her heal.

  As she looked into Luke’s gentle blue eyes, she wondered if changing her own way of coping would.

  “When I was thirteen, my family lived in Russia. One night, coming out of gymnastics practice, my best friend Nadia and I were abducted.”

  He didn’t say anything. He didn’t even move. But Ara heard the nearly silent catch of his breath.

  “I wasn’t the intended target. That was Nadia. Her father was wealthy, and they wanted to ransom her off. I happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time.” She turned to look out the window, but she no longer saw the beautiful fall leaves. “They took us to an apartment, a place where they kept other girls they had kidnapped or kids they’d taken for sex trafficking purposes. At first, they handcuffed us to beds, kept us in the dark. As the days passed, they became less strict.”

  Her voice lowered, the words sounding hollow, even to her own ears. “One night, there was a commotion outside of the apartment. A lot of banging, screaming. Gunshots. The police had gotten a tip and were raiding the apartment, although we didn’t know that at the time. I tried to convince a few girls to go out on the scaffolding, but they wouldn’t do it. They were terrified.”

  She closed her eyes and could smell the scent of the tear gas, the sweat, her own fear.

  “I went out onto the scaffolding, and I called out to Nadia but . . .”

  Ara’s throat closed up, the words so painful she didn’t know if she could bear to hear them said aloud. “She died.”

  Luke said nothing, but he squeezed her hand gently. When she opened her eyes and looked at him, the understanding she saw there nearly ripped her heart in two. He reached out and wiped away the tear that had escaped.

  “You survived.”

  “I did.” She lifted her arm to reveal the scar. “The scaffolding tore up my hands and shoulders. I could never be a gymnast after that. My parents moved us to the U.S. and we started a new life.”

  “But you never really did, did you? Because you still blame yourself.”

  “I should have done more,” she said with heavy conviction. “I should have saved her. All the girls in that room. It’s why I became a police officer; it’s why I went off the rails when it came to certain cases. It wasn’t a job for me—”

  “It was repentance.”

  “Yes.” She breathed out the word. He got it. Although she supposed if anyone would, it was Luke.

  “That’s why you pushed so hard for Sam.” His expression held both awe and, more importantly, respect. “Why you risked so much.”

  “Of course.” Ara gave a half shrug. “She was me.”

  “I’m sorry I ever doubted you.”

  “Don’t be.” Now it was Ara’s turn to squeeze his hand. “You were doing your job. I would’ve done exactly the same.”

  Their eyes met, and the tension in the room felt palpable. Luke licked his lips, and her breath hitched. For a moment, Ara swore he was going to lean down and kiss her, but a knock at the door interrupted them.

  Ara peered around Luke to see Sam standing in the doorway. In her arms was a huge bouquet of flowers.

  “I can come back later—”

  “No, no.” Ara waved her in. “Please.”

  Sam gingerly stepped inside. “I tried to visit you earlier, but they wouldn’t let me into the ICU.”

  “It’s okay. I probably wasn’t much fun.”

  Luke chuckled. “She’s not much fun now, to tell you the truth.”

  Ara glared at him and then watched as Sam set the vase down on the table next to the window. She was wearing a T-shirt and jeans, and her long, blonde hair was pulled back into a ponytail. Her naked face was pale, her already slender frame painfully thin.

  But she was here. And whole.

  “Those are beautiful.” Ara smiled warmly at her. “Thank you.”

  “There’s no need. It’s the least I can do.” Sam’s gaze lifted to briefly meet Ara’s before dropping back down again. “You did save my life and all. When I think of how I treated you, what I did . . . I still don’t understand why you helped me.”

  Ara waved her closer, and Sam dutifully complied. “You saved my life, too. The way I see it, we’re even.”

  After Ara had dived into the ocean, the blood loss coupled with too many knocks to the head had caused her to lose consciousness; Sam had kept Ara’s head above water until help arrived. She’d saved them both.

  Ara sucked in a deep breath, the guilt as sharply painful as her bullet wound. “I’m sorry about Nick.”

  Tears flooded Sam’s eyes. “I should have . . .”

  “There was nothing you could’ve done.” Luke locked gazes with Sam before turning to Ara. “Either of you.”

  His words were logical and simple enough to hear, but Ara saw in the grief written across Sam’s face that she didn’t believe it. Ara didn’t want Sam going through what she did. The guilt, the pain, the weight of the what-ifs.

  If she could spare Sam even a little of that, she would.

  Telling her story to Luke had freed a part of her. Maybe hearing it would help Sam heal. Help her forgive herself.

  Ara smiled at her gently and said, “Sit down, Sam. I think there’s something about me you need to hear.”

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