She lost consciousness on the container ship. The paramedics checked her. Her blood sugar was dangerously low. Thankfully, she was able to eat and relay her story to the police before they drove her to the hospital for further examination. Blood tests, a walking cast for her foot, and a follow-up appointment with a podiatrist scheduled, and she was released.
Oliver and I didn’t get to the hospital until she was nearly ready to be discharged. When it was time to leave, Oliver offered Charlie a ride home. We all piled into his car and I asked him to drop me off at the safehouse to get my SUV. Oliver didn’t ask about how my vehicle got there before it went on lockdown. He didn’t show his suspicions, which would have been confirmed when Charlie changed vehicles and asked me to drive her home.
I lean against the doorframe and watch her rest.She’s safe, I remind myself. For now, she is safe.
As if Charlie can sense my presence, she stirs, gently opening her eyes. “Hey,” she coos, reaching for her glasses out of habit.
I walk over so I can hand them to her. The bruises on her wrists from the ropes catch my attention. The welt on her face is already purple, though the ice pack I left her with has kept the swelling down. I raised her foot up on one of her throw pillows, her new boot waiting for her at the edge of her bed. Seeing her injuries, my anger builds again. “I got it,” I tell her as I sit next to her on the bed.
She puts on her glasses and props her head up on her elbow, still lying down. “Thank you,” she says, as her free hand stretches for mine.
I have so much to say and I don’t want to say any of it, so I swallow my words.
“Any updates?” she asks. Her memory of this morning must be fuzzy.
I nod. “Yeah, Oliver and Celine are handling the local papers to make sure FIRE isn’t mentioned in any coverage. She drove up from our Miami event to sort it out. We removed the container heading to Côte d’Ivoire, and the bomb squad is going through it meticulously to remove the explosives.” A deep breath escapes me and I rub my eyes.
“I should contact Raj and his team. Better to forget the damn shirts at this point,” she mutters and reaches for her phone.
“Already on it,” I assure her.
Charlie glances at the clock on her bedside table. It’s late afternoon. “You’ve been working this whole time?”
“You know me,” I respond.
“Declan,” she says before taking a deep breath. I know what’s coming. She will apologize and explain. But she isn’t to blame for any of this. I already start to shake my head, rejecting her apology.
“I’ll never forgive myself,” I whisper, hoping this strong woman doesn’t see me for the weak coward that I am.
“It’s not your fault.” She squeezes my hand. “I’m a big girl. At any point, I could have quit. After you locked me out. After we were shot at. After being stuck in a storage unit. After any of it. I could have quit my job, broken my lease, and run back home.”
I watch her as she says this. The color has returned to her cheeks, the light in her eyes is bright.
“I stayed because I want to help. I want my life to mean something.”
“But the risk, the danger . . .” I begin.
“Life is risk. Life is danger. I could have risked an autoimmune flare by going for a run or eating something my body doesn’t like. I could have been hit by a bus any day this week. If I’m living this life, I want to live it.”
I silently consider her words.
“And you should too.”
I shake my head. “I had a rule for a reason. My worst fears played out today. Charlie, I’ve only had a brief moment to care for you, and you were taken from me. They could have killed you.”
“Declan,” she says.
“I can’t,” I admit. “I can’t let this happen again. I care for you too much.” I stop speaking because I know I’m about to cry. “I think I might –” I stop myself before I say “love” because the word is too powerful. Once I say it, I know my heart will accept it. And that will make this all the more difficult. I glance down at her hand, the one that’s intertwined in mine. The one that is bruised and bandaged.
“Declan, they were coming after me anyways,” she murmurs.
I look at her, willing this to be true, but shake my head. “No.”
“Yes. That Blaed guy planted a device on me in my first week. When I was Oliver’s assistant. Before anything with us started.”
“But they knew what you mean to me,” I explain. “They sent a picture to my phone of you tied up because they knew how much it would hurt me.”
“Now they know what we mean toeach other,” she corrects, “they’d still come after me to get to you or go after you to get to me. Should we both be miserable staying apart from each otherandhave to contend with that?”
