“You love me?”
“More than anything.”
“And you’re not dying?”
Indy snickers.
Ace touches my cheek. “No. I’m not dying.”
From the hallway, Tyler says, “Sorry to interrupt. But Grover’s with Malik. Just making sure he’s stable enough to move.”
Crap.
How could I have forgotten, even for a second?
“How is he?” I ask. “How bad?”
“Malnourished,” Tyler replies. “Beat up. But nothing life-threatening. We should be able to get him straight through to Armenia with some fluids and first aid.”
Fresh tears spill down my cheeks. “We really found him?”
“Yeah.” Tyler pats my shoulder. “We really did.”
“It’s okay, Tink,” Ace says, somehow knowing I’m feeling guilty without me saying a word. With his good arm, he pulls me into a hug. His lips come to the top of my head. “We got him. Now we can all go home.”
CHAPTER 20
ACE
“What if he hates me,like Davis?”
It’s the first thing Yara’s said since we left our hotel. On the ride to the hospital, she was silent and pensive, gnawing on her lower lip while she stared out the window and nervously drummed her fingers on the dash. And even before that, while we were at our hotel in Bethesda, getting ready to leave, she was quiet—only giving brief responses whenever I’d ask her a question.
Would you like coffee?Sure.
Do you want to order room service for breakfast?No thanks, I’m not hungry.
Are you feeling okay?Yes. I’m fine.
And it was thefineI’ve learned doesn’t really mean fine. It just means,I don’t want you to worry.
But I am worried. How could I not be?
Yara’s one of the strongest people I know, but even strong people reach their breaking point, eventually. And when I thinkabout everything she’s been through over the last couple of months, I’m honestly surprised she’s held it together this long.
Actually, no. I’m not. Because on top of being strong, Yara’s stubborn. She refuses to let her struggles define her. That asshole Winthrop, Davis, getting fucking shot in Iran—and yes, she was shot, I don’t give a shit that she was wearing a vest, I’ve seen the damn bruise that covers half her chest—and her worry for everyone but herself.
Oh, and the three months she was held captive, of course. It doesn’t matter if it happened three years ago, or thirty. That’s something she’ll never be completely free of.
So, yeah. If her rigid control slipped, I wouldn’t blame her. But it hasn’t.
We’re nearly to the hospital entrance when Yara asks her question, and I don’t want to get into a serious discussion in the busy lobby. So I steer her off the sidewalk and onto the yellowed grass, then grasp her arms and turn her to face me. “Why would Malik hate you?” I ask.
Her forehead creases. “Because.”
“Because?” I raise my eyebrows at her. “That’s not much of an answer.”
She chews on her lip again. Then her gaze moves from my face to my arm. My injured one, more specifically, though the bandages are hidden beneath layers of clothing. That’s one of the big things she’s been worried about—first that I’d bleed to death in that shitty house in Iran, then, during our seemingly endless trip back to the States, that I’d end up with blood poisoning or an infection. And even now, despite the assurances of the doctor, she’s not fully convinced that I’m really okay.
