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)
“But you didn’t say it was me?” Izzy’s gaze whipped from the retreating back of the civilian she’d just finished helping across the table to mine.
“You mean, did I advertise that an aide to a United States congresswoman was out here searching for a needle in a haystack? No, I did not. Because I like you alive.”
She stood and glared at me, her chair squeaking against the linoleum floor, and I noted the reactions of every person in the room who wasn’t part of my team or hers. There were only a few now, and they were headed for the door, since Graham had started shutting the place down.
“I’m not going to leave her here,” Izzy hissed, keeping her voice low.
I shot the interpreter at her side a glance, and he backed away, giving us space, but Torres hovered. He always hovered when he sensed I was about to blow.
“You will if she’s not here in ten minutes.” I leaned in. “You promised you’d do as I asked out here, and I’m holding you to it. We’re leaving in ten minutes, whether or not Serena is on board.”
Izzy’s body tensed and her eyes narrowed at me. “And spend the next . . . however long wondering if she’s alive or dead? Wondering if I could have done or said something that could have brought her home? No, Na—” She grimaced but recovered quickly. “Sergeant Green, I’m not going to do that, not again.”
“I don’t think she’s talking about her sister anymore,” Torres whispered before backing away.
“Point made,” I replied, and she lifted her stubborn little chin. “Ms. Astor,” I started again, dropping my voice, more than aware of the people around us, “you can’t control the decisions other people make, nor do you bear the blame for the consequences of their choices.” The fact that we’d made it this far without having this discussion was a miracle, but I sure as hell wasn’t getting into this using some code language, and this was far from the appropriate place.
“You sure about that?” She wrapped her arms around her waist, careful not to catch the printed silk scarf that covered her hair. “Because I’ve had a few years to think about it, and I’m pretty sure if I’d just looked at someone and said, ‘Please come home,’ maybe they would have.” Her eyes searched mine, and I struggled to pick my heart up off the goddamned floor.
She’d never asked. Not outright. Then again, I’d never given her a reason to think I would have stayed.
“Hey, Isa, you ready to head out?” Holt asked as he walked over, stopping to glance between us, his perfectly groomed eyebrows rising. “Did I interrupt?”
“No,” I answered.
“Yes,” Izzy fired back.
“Okay, well, I’m going to head out with Baker and Turner,” he said, retreating slowly.
Kellman whistled as he walked by, herding Holt out the door behind us, leaving only Graham and a couple other operators in the room. If I hadn’t promised her these ten minutes, Izzy would’ve been buckled in on the Blackhawk by now.
“Did you ever think about me?” she questioned, her voice dropping to a whisper.
I clenched my jaw, fighting off the urge to tell her the truth. Every fucking day.
“That’s a loaded question,” I answered finally.
She blinked. “Not like that. I mean, did you ever think about what it felt like to sit there for years and wonder if you were out there somewhere fighting, or if you’d . . . died?” The last word came out strangled. “Do you have any idea how many times I cried myself to sleep, terrified of the possibility that you were buried somewhere? That I wouldn’t even know where to visit your grave?”
Shit. My stomach dropped, and I blew out a slow breath, more than aware of my team trying to give us space. “This isn’t the time.”
“It’s never the time,” she retorted. “That was always the problem, so I guess it’s nice to know some things don’t change. You ask me to ignore”—she gestured between us—“everything, and then you go and pull that bullshit by playing that song in the helicopter? Sorry, Sergeant Green, but not all of us are capable of walking away without so much as looking back like you are. But you moved right on to the next assignment, didn’t you?”
Graham raised his eyebrows where he stood at the middle of the room, then turned his back on us when I sent a glare his way.
“It looks like you moved on just fine,” I whispered, glancing meaningfully to her ring.
She swallowed, then tucked her left hand into her elbow, hiding the ring, and she had the decency to look . . . shit, what was that? Remorseful? “Every day,” she said quietly. “I searched your name on Google every goddamned day, Sergeant Green, terrified that an obituary would pop up. Don’t forget that you were the first term I ever used for a Google Alert. It will destroy me if I have to do the same for Serena.”