No matter what, you suffered with the loss. A gut-wrenching, aching void that one day, hopefully, if you’re lucky, could be filled again.
She looked up to the ceiling and knew her husband would understand about Tristan, would want this, and she said a silent prayer of thanks. If he hadn’t loved her, and loved her well, she’d never want to find that feeling again.
When she opened her eyes, she realized tears coursed down her cheeks, saw Randy standing by Julia’s bedside, holding Julia’s hand and refusing to let her go.
She wasn’t gone yet, was staring back at Randy, smiling.
Rowan had been gone a long time, but in these moments of chaos, she realized with a stunning clarity that she’d finally been found.
The boat wasn’t exactly built for comfort. It was a freighter, smelling of fuel and God knows what else, but it was supposed to be safe transport.
She’d watched the woman Dylan called Riley help hoist the kids onto the boat. Then she accepted her help in climbing aboard … had been waiting for Zane to join her.
It wouldn’t happen, and without looking back, she accepted Dylan’s help getting onto the ship, and in seconds he was next to her on the deck and the crew was untying the moorings from the dock.
Dylan Scott was a dangerous man. Zane was as well, but Dylan was so different.
“Go below with Riley,” Dylan told her, then leaned in and whispered, “None of the crew knows about the children. Keep it that way.”
She would.
The first thing Riley did when she saw Olivia was hand her a small yellow pill. “Dramamine,” she explained. “Even if you don’t normally get seasick, this trip will change that.”
Olivia took the pill with a sip from the bottle of water Riley had also handed her.
“I already gave some to the kids. They should sleep most of the trip,” Riley continued. Olivia saw the bunk hidden by some trunks, the kids under blankets.
Upon closer inspection, Olivia noted that they were already asleep—the combination of the medication and the stress of the past days taking its toll, no doubt.
“They’ve been through so much already,” she whispered, more to herself than Riley.
“So have you,” Riley told her, handed her a cell phone. “It’s secured. Call your parents by pressing 1. They have a secure device as well.”
She didn’t wait for a further invitation, did what Riley had said and heard her mother’s voice for the first time in over six months, and then her father’s, and they were all crying. There was relief in her parents’ voices, but it was mixed with fear, even when she assured them that she was okay.
She wondered if they’d heard the fear in hers. “How are you both?”
“We’re fine, Olivia. We’ve just been so worried,” her mother said, and her father interjected, “We know you can’t tell us where you are. Just please … keep calling. Please.”
“I will. I promise,” she said, saw Riley motioning for her to wrap it up, and so she did, telling them she loved them and hearing it in return.
“Thanks for that,” she told Riley when she handed her back the phone. The tears were too close, her voice thick with them held in.
Dylan joined them, told her, “We’ve got food.”
“I’m not—”
“You need to eat. I can’t deal with you fainting from low blood sugar when we dock again.”
“So being bossy is a family trait.”
Dylan didn’t answer but Riley smirked, told her, “Wait until you meet Caleb.”
Zane had waited until the boat was safely out of the harbor before he left with Tristan, new weapons in the back, plenty of cash to throw at anyone who tried to stop them.
They’d gotten back to camp just in time, had heard the AK fire when they were down the road, and Tristan drove like hell into the shitstorm, Zane hanging out the window, providing cover fire.
He’d seen Doc J go down, picked off the soldier who held the rifle on him before he could do further damage. Taken care of another while Tristan ran toward the sounds of shouting in the main tent.
Now Tristan piled the bodies into the soldiers’ own truck. “There’s a nice drop-off about a mile from here,” he said. “That’s where they’re headed.”
“I’ll drive behind you,” Zane offered but Tristan shook his head.
“We don’t want anyone spotted around the truck. I’ve got a few friends, locals in the next village, who’ll be happy to do the job. I’ll walk back.” He climbed into the driver’s seat and backed the truck with the dead soldiers down the rough road, away from the clinic.
Doc J sat propped on his elbows on the ground. “Bullet went straight through. I’m fine.”
“Yes, you’re fine. You didn’t ask why I’m back,” Zane said as he helped him up and took his weight against him, moving with Doc J slowly, toward the main tent. The man still had a Molotov cocktail in his side pocket.
“I’m guessing for Randy.”
“The kids are on the ship, they’re fine. But they need their father.”
He and Doc J met Rowan at the door of the main tent. When he looked past her, he saw they’d moved Julia there for comfort. It was light and airy, and although the breeze still carried the smell of gunpowder and blood, it was an infinitely better place for Julia to be.
She tried to sit up in bed when she saw him, and Randy stood quickly.
“Julia, Randy, please, it’s okay,” Zane started, quickly drowned out by Randy’s demanding, “What’s wrong? The kids …”
Zane raised his voice. “They’re on a boat to Morocco with Olivia and my brother. They’re well protected. I promised you.”
Randy muttered a prayer and Julia sank back against the pillow, her face unnaturally pale. “Thank God,” she said. And then, “I’d like to speak with Zane alone.”
Zane was as surprised by anyone at that statement—and honestly, it was the last thing he wanted to do. But he couldn’t refuse her, and so Rowan and Randy helped Doc J back outside, with Rowan grabbing supplies to dress Doc’s wound.
Zane stood by Julia’s cot uncomfortably, his adrenaline still running too high from the firefight to stay truly still, but he tried. “You sound better.”
“Rowan lightened up on the morphine. I’d rather feel the pain and be awake for the short time I have left.”
He nodded, shoved his hands in his pockets.
“I’m glad you came back for Randy.”
“I didn’t come back for him—I wanted to make sure the kids have their father.” His words were blunt, but she wasn’t offended.
Instead, she said, “You don’t believe, do you?”
“I believe in some things.”
“I don’t know why you do what you do, but I thank you for saving my family.”
Zane felt the anger rise, hot but not wholly unexpected. “I don’t know why you do what you do when you have kids. Why you drag them into your choices.”
She blinked. “Are you looking for a deathbed confession?”
“Sorry, forget it,” he said roughly.
“No, it’s a fair question. It must seem risky … stupid, especially now.”
“My parents were missionaries,” he told her. “They weren’t as lucky as you, and I wasn’t as lucky as your children.”
“I’ve grown up in this life,” Julia said. “It’s all I know. I followed in my parents’ footsteps. Serving like this, it’s what I do.”
“Children don’t have a choice.”
“My sister chose not to do this work as an adult. She’s been in the States since she went there at sixteen for boarding school.” She paused. “Our work is dangerous. But so is everything in life—you can’t make choices based on fear.”
He knew that, agreed with it, and still …
Not your parents, not your problems. In a way, he’d absolved himself with this trip, best he could do to alleviate the nagging guilt of all those other kids left behind.
This family wouldn’t fracture completely on his watch.
“I don’t have to take Randy right now. He wants to wait with you.”
“You’ll let him do that?”
“I won’t be able to stop him.”
“Do you … have any good memories of Africa?”
He snorted softly.
“You must have some, Zane. I know my children do, and I’d hate to think that this would erase years for them.”
Catching snakes with the local children in the riverbeds. The tall grass, the freedom. Space.
When he’d first moved back to the States with the Scotts, he hadn’t realized that he’d been lucky. He now understood why they traveled so often—they were seeking the same space.
“School wasn’t school here, it was more like … life. Lots of reading. Hands-on learning. Everything was different.”
“I can see you here, running wild,” she told him. “You seem to belong somehow.”
He was more comfortable here than he’d thought he’d be, even with the missionary family close by and in danger. It was as if the old instincts came back … as if they’d never left. He knew what to do, how to act. “There were some good times. In truth, I didn’t know anything else until …”
Until the day of the massacre. That’s what it had been, what his memories told him, fogged though they were. Until that point, he’d been another child running free and wild, loving his parents.
“What were they like?”
“I don’t remember that much about them,” he said honestly. “Almost like I stopped myself from remembering because when I was captured and sold, and then hiding, I knew it would hurt too much to think about them.”
“I’m sorry, Zane. This must be bringing back such bad memories for you.”
“It’s making new ones too.”
“Olivia,” she said softly.
“Yes, Olivia.” He paused, and then, “You should be spending this time with Randy, not me.”
Julia simply nodded, and Zane called out Randy’s name, walked past him as he left, not looking back at Julia again, not wanting to be thanked. He’d never understand what she was doing—would never accept her answers.
Zane wasn’t convinced by Julia at all. It wasn’t that easy, never would be. The only thing he could do was take comfort in the fact that he’d gotten the kids—and soon, their father—out.
Julia had been beyond saving. Hell, maybe they all were—but that wouldn’t stop Zane from trying.
The boat ride had been rough on her and the kids, but Olivia watched them reunite with their aunt at the American embassy in Morocco, from the safety of the car while she waited with Riley.
Dylan had driven her and Riley to the airport then, even though she thought they’d be staying in-country to wait for Zane.
“Too dangerous for you” was all Dylan said, and she wondered if she could do this, board a plane away without Zane by her side.
No choice, sweetheart.
At least the plane taking them back to the States was a private one. And still, she had to pause for a second before boarding, even as Dylan radiated impatience behind her.
She couldn’t be rushed though, although the time was shorter since it was daylight. And when she finally climbed on board and buckled in, she actually felt some of the dread of leaving Zane wash away.
He’ll be fine.
“Zane will be fine,” Dylan told her, as if reading her mind. “Trust me. I wouldn’t have let him go back otherwise.”
“I don’t think Zane would say you let him do anything,” she said, and for the first time since she’d met him, Dylan laughed, albeit a short, barking one.
“Tell me what’s happening with DMH,” she said to him. “Does the CIA know about me—where I am now?”
“The CIA’s been trying to catch up with you for a while,” Dylan told her. A straight shooter like his brother, he didn’t hold anything back. He was lean and dangerous, for sure, but when he looked at Riley, he seemed like a different man. “They’d like to debrief you about DMH. And they want to offer you protection, of course.”
She shook her head upon hearing the last part. “I don’t want anything from them in return for sharing what I know. Zane said he would … you would keep me safe.”
Dylan simply nodded, giving no clear indication as to what he thought of her plan. He wasn’t in the bodyguarding business and neither was Zane—she knew that, wondered how long it would be before Zane had to return to work.
Where would that leave her?
“If I went into some kind of protection—I mean, I’ve seen it on TV. Is it really like that?” She directed her question to Riley, who’d handed Olivia a cold Coke Light.
Different name, same slice of heaven. She drank while Riley answered.
“You’d start over—new state, new name. You couldn’t practice medicine or do anything remotely related to that field. You couldn’t talk to your parents again. Or Zane. Or us—for your own safety as well as ours.” Riley paused and Olivia let the weight of that settle over her. “Witness protection is a good thing for a lot of people, but it’s not easy. And, after all of those precautions, you’re still not going to feel any safer inside. I know that’s what you’re ultimately looking for. If there were some way to do it, I would give it to you.”
She appreciated the frankness of Riley’s answer. Even though she didn’t feel ready at all to go back to practicing medicine, she also couldn’t see herself giving it up. “Will DMH ever be eradicated?”
Dylan and Riley glanced at each other. “Realistically, no. But we can do enough damage that the key players will be gone and you won’t be in the line of fire any longer, if we’re lucky,” Dylan said.
She was suddenly nervous as hell about meeting with the CIA. Would they believe her? Help her? Blame her for the bombing of the clinic and call her a criminal? “Will one of you be with me when I talk to the CIA? Or can I wait for Zane?”
“The agents would like to hear everything from you sooner rather than later—it’s in your best interest to do so expediently,” Riley explained. And then her demeanor softened. “It’ll be a good way to pass the time while you’re waiting for Zane—or else you’ll sit at home and drive yourself crazy.”
Riley sounded as if she’d had some experience in that area. She supposed anyone who’d fallen for a dangerous man did.
CHAPTER
17
Tristan drove Zane and Randy back to Freetown after Julia passed. It had been a dangerous mission for all concerned, more so because it left the clinic vulnerable—down a man, Doc J had said.
Rowan had asked him for one of the AK-47s from his closet to hold on to, and he obliged her willingly. Grinned a little but didn’t bother to ask if she knew how to shoot.
Now it was well past midnight, and she sat with the lantern on the small steps of the main tent, waiting.
Relief swept over her when the old Land Rover chugged into the camp. She noted that Doc J limped right over, knew he’d been waiting and watching too, even though he’d played it much cooler than she did.
Later that evening, she listened to Doc J and Tristan arguing about relocating the clinic as she dressed Doc J’s wounds again.
“We’re not moving,” he said stubbornly.
“They’ll come back now, all the time,” Tristan argued.
“So let them. And you, enough fussing,” he said to Rowan, then pushed up from the chair, and limped away. “And don’t come into my tent to check on me tonight.”
She watched out the open door until he’d gotten inside his tent and then said, “The old man’s tough.”
“Tough enough that he’d kick your ass for calling him old.” Tristan shook his head. “And he’s just fool enough to put himself in the middle of six men and win.”
“Lot of that going around,” Rowan said. “I don’t see it ending anytime soon.”
Tristan snorted. She could still see the remnants of the deadly weapon he was in his eyes, the glint of fire that sparked when he’d killed the soldier who’d threatened her. “We’re
okay,” Tristan said.
“I’ll worry though—about Zane and Olivia.”
“Doc J will keep in touch with them.”
God, it had been a long day. Long week, long year … and watching Julia die with quiet dignity had been both uplifting and horribly depressing.
Now the camp was quiet; it remained to be seen if the regular workers would be back tomorrow. But Doc J and Tristan, they were constants.
Tristan might be a loner but, like her, he was trying to reach out, to look for more.
He was stretched out on one of the cots like a lazy lion in the sun, but she knew he missed nothing. The tension coiled in her belly, the way it had before a firefight in Iraq, and she couldn’t help but scan the borders of the clinic, looking for trouble.
“We’re okay for now,” Tristan told her. “I’d know.”
“ ‘For now’?”
“That’s all we’ve got, honey.”
She stretched in her seat, a yawn escaping. She felt dustier than usual. “I need a shower.”
“Give me a few minutes,” he told her. When he returned, he guided her into her tent, where he’d set up an old oil lamp that threw a gentle glow over the room. There were fresh sheets on her cot. Flowers. And an old beach chair in the middle of the room, near a porcelain bowl and jugs of water.
“Here.” He handed her a towel.
“What are you doing?”
“You going shy on me all of a sudden? Come on—strip down.”
She pulled her clothes off and wrapped the towel around herself so the chair wouldn’t cut into her. When she sank into it, he poured some of the water into a big pitcher and she took it from him, planning to douse her hair with it, because that would have more water pressure than the shower, but Tristan took it from her.
“Lean back,” he said. “Let me.”
“I can take care of myself.”
“Yeah, you’ve proven that. Now, can you shut up and lean back?”
She thought about protesting, but instead did what he’d asked, lowered the chair nearly flat so her hair was over the basin. He tucked a towel under her neck for her comfort and then soaked her hair, careful to keep the water off her face.
Promises in the Dark Page 27
