Total pages in book: 122
Estimated words: 115997 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 580(@200wpm)___ 464(@250wpm)___ 387(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 115997 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 580(@200wpm)___ 464(@250wpm)___ 387(@300wpm)
“Getting back from the gym.”
I dropped my gaze to his hip, where a weapon was holstered. “And the first thing you do after a shower is strap up?”
“Listen to you.” He grinned, flashing that dimple, and my heart freaking clenched. “Strap up.”
God, it was safer against his chest, where I wasn’t looking straight into those eyes. Ten years later, and they still had the same thigh-clenching effect on me. The man could have done nothing but look at me, and I bet I would have come if he stared hard enough. I gripped the edge of the blanket.
His brow knit. “You’re not wearing your ring.”
Heat flushed my cheeks, and I drew my hand back beneath the blanket. “I don’t sleep in it,” I explained. The damn thing was cumbersome and caught on the sheets, and maybe I just needed a damn break from wearing the symbol of being Jeremy’s. “It’s . . . not comfortable,” I finished in a tone so lame even I cringed.
“I can see how a rock like that would get . . . heavy.” He looked away, his jaw ticking.
Guilt sat like a rock in my stomach, and a thousand things I wanted to say tickled the tip of my tongue. Then I remembered the sight of his rain-soaked back retreating down my hallway in New York, refusing to turn when I called his name over and over, and my chest tightened. “How are we supposed to do this?”
“Do what?” He leaned forward, bracing his elbows on his knees.
“Stay this close for the next two weeks and just ignore . . . everything?” It came out as a whisper.
He shoved his dog tags back under his shirt. “It’s only twelve more days,” he answered quietly. “And we just have to.”
“Nate.” I moved to scoot closer, and he pinned me with a look that stopped me dead.
“Don’t, Izzy.” He shook his head. “I have one weakness on this entire planet, and you’re feet away when you’re supposed to be halfway round the globe.” That mask he wore like armor fell away, and the pain in his eyes was enough to make me suck in a sharp breath. “So please, have some goddamn mercy on me for once in your life and just . . .” His eyes squeezed shut. “Just ignore it.”
I studied the lines of his face, the tattoo that moved and rippled on his forearm when he curled his hands into fists. Every line of him was tight, like he was prepared to fight a battle I couldn’t see. It wasn’t fair to him. I was here by my choice, and he was only staying for me. “Okay,” I said. “I can ignore it.”
“Thank you.” His posture relaxed, and he stared at the coffee table in front of us. “What is that?” He motioned to the folder.
“The latest posts by American journalists,” I answered. “Kacey must have come in and put them on the table after I went to bed. I crashed early.”
“She has a key?”
“Yes. She’s a junior aide. She’s not a threat, Nate.” I rolled my eyes.
“You need to lock your dead bolt,” he muttered, reaching for the folder.
“And if I had, you wouldn’t have been able to get in, either, would you?” I challenged, tucking my legs underneath me as he handed me the folder.
He snorted. “Like a piece of metal is keeping me out when I hear you scream.”
I didn’t bother pointing out that if he could get past a dead bolt, so could anyone else. Instead, I thumbed through the articles. My breath caught when I saw her byline. “Nate,” I whispered, shoving the printed article at him. “She’s not in the picture, but it’s Serena’s article.”
I bet if I check my phone right now, I’ll have a Google Alert waiting in my inbox.
He took the article and studied the picture, sighing. “She’s in Mez.”
“What?” Against my better judgment, I moved closer so I could see it, too, my shoulder brushing his arm.
“That building. It’s the Shrine of Ali, also known as the Blue Mosque.” He pointed to the building in the distance of the picture. “She’s either in Mazar-i-Sharif, or she was recently.”
I couldn’t help but smile, because she’d filed it earlier this evening, according to the post time. “But she’s alive.”
“She’s alive.”
And now we knew where she was.
CHAPTER TEN
NATHANIEL
Tybee Island, Georgia
June 2014
“Seven ball, corner pocket,” I called out, flipping my ball cap backward before leaning over the pool table and making my third shot in a row.
“Damn it, Phelan,” Rowell muttered, his head falling back as our friends howled with laughter, bottles lifting all around me. “You gotta run the table on me like that?”
“Hey, you were the one pushing me to play.” A smirk turned up the corner of my mouth as I surveyed the table in the corner we’d commandeered at our favorite beach bar on Tybee Island. There were three other tables nearby, a dance floor that always seemed to have sand on it, and a bar that opened to the ocean breeze, a lifesaver in the Georgia summer, even at ten p.m. “Three, side pocket.” I sank the shot as the beat changed in the obnoxiously loud speakers behind me, and from the resounding squeal, I could only guess that a group of women took the floor.