“I think so.”
“I think that’s an‘awo’then,” he said, mimicking her breathy inhalation.
She laughed, her chest vibrating against his. God, he liked that feeling, that sound. He released the blanket and lowered his hand. For want of options, he rested it on her arm.
“I think we just put the word ‘survival’ into ‘survival blanket,’” he whispered, since that was all the volume that was needed. “But we should stay put a minute in case they come back.”
“Sure.”
“Talking about survival tools, that was quick thinking back there with the flare. Did you know how to use one?”
“My parents took me sailing around the Greek islands one spring. Using the flares was part of the safety demonstration.”
“Trust you to pay attention to the safety demonstration. The Greek islands, huh? We had quite a different upbringing, you and I.”
“That cottage must have been special, too.”
“I guess.”
“Are there bad memories. Is that why you...?”
“The memories are good. It’s just...being there drove home the things that have happened since.” He screwed up his face. “Samira, I’ve not thanked you. For getting us out of there, when I...let you down. And I’m sorry.”
Silence.
“I’m going to destroy the rest of the drugs.”
“Eshi,”she said, eventually.
No. It wasn’teshi. Nothing waseshi. If the memory of their encounter in the cottage wasn’t so vivid he’d wonder if it’d happened. Blown from history like the cottage was blown from the map.
Well, seeing as it never should have happened and never would again, that was appropriate. But, damn, he wanted to kiss her right now. Just a little downward shuffle and his lips would be level with hers...
“We should go,” he said.
It was still dark more than an hour later when they reached his sister’s town house and banged on the door. Samira slipped off a boot and rubbed her toes. The walk had been unrelenting but blessedly uneventful, though his head was pounding hard enough to crack his skull. After a few rounds of knocking, a curtain twitched in the living room. Samira was about to discover that her disappointment in Jamie was nothing next to his family’s. A light switched on in the hall and the door arced open.
Nicole pushed her hair—still blue-black but longer—behind her ears, gave him a cursory disapproving look, then studied Samira head to toe and back up. “What the fuck are you doing here? Not you,” she added quickly, as Samira flinched. “Him.”
Don’t give me hell, Nicole. Not today.
“Samira, meet my charming little sister, Nicole,” he said. “Nicole, Samira. Uh, Nic, we’re needing a lift to Edinburgh.”
“What?”
“Edinburgh. It’s this city, sixty miles east. A little gothic and gloomy but the tourists seem to like it.” The joke was an effort but better that than let his real state of mind loose.
“Three years, Jamie. Three years and you knock on my door at stupid o’clock and there’s no, ‘Hello, how are you keeping? Sorry for being the world’s most useless brother but I’m here for you now.’ Just, ‘I’m needing a lift,’ like I’m fuckin’ Uber.”
Jamie darted a glance down the street, a curving row of identical dark houses. “We need to get out of here, right away.”
“I’ve got the kids and they’ve got school.”
“Since when did my sister prioritize school? Look, I can’t explain and you wouldn’t believe me if I did. But we have got to get to Edinburgh, fast. It actually is life or death.”
“Your death or the death of someone I might actually care about?” She crossed her arms. “What kind of a mess have you landed in this time?”
“It’s a long story but we don’t have t—”
