Page 88 of Protecting the Nerd

And then the public tips came in, hundreds of them. Most were useless, but agents still tracked them down, especially if the tipsters were anywhere near Seattle.

The process was slow and tedious.

My only consolation was that the terrorist needed York alive, so that should buy him—and us—some time. But what would they do once he’d shared his knowledge with them? They wouldn’t let him go, would they? That seemed unlikely.

I’d rarely felt this powerless, and I hated it. I wanted to search for him, do something, do anything, but I couldn’t. I had to sit back and let the pros handle it. But Jesus, the waiting sucked.

By the end of the afternoon, the FBI had solid leads but no definitive trace of York. Based on a report of several witnesses and traffic cam footage of the blue van near the port of Seattle, they suspected he’d been taken onto a boat. Both the US Coast Guard and the Canadian Coast Guard had been alerted, and the FBI was working to narrow down which ship York was or had been on.

Everything became a daze, as if I was stuck in a bad dream. People gave me food, and I ate it because I had to, not because I was hungry. I took naps in between, with Auden promising to wake me if there was any news. The concussion had hit me harder than I’d thought, and all I could do was wait.

But when twenty-four hours passed and York was still missing, my chest constricted, bordering on pain. I missed him so badly, and I was so, so worried about him. Were they treating him well? Was he getting food? Or were they torturing him for information? How long would he be able to hold out?

To my surprise, I slept. My body’s need for rest was powerful enough to override my worries.

“We suspect he’s in Canada,” Coulson told me the next morning. “We’ve identified the ship he was on, and we have witnesses who confirmed a crate being loaded onto a van. We’re getting close, Quillon, I promise.”

The tips kept pouring in, and with every bit of information, we found another piece of the puzzle. The Canadian Security Intelligence Service—their version of the FBI—had been notified, as well as the Royal Canadian Mounted Police. At least we didn’t suffer from any language barrier, and the Canadians vowed to do whatever they could to find York.

I was about to lie down for another nap when Coulson let out a shout. “We’ve found him!”

I jerked my head up and winced. “What?”

“We’ve found him,” Coulson called, and the room grew quiet. “Or I should say, he found us. He escaped. He’s fine.”

“He’s okay?” I couldn’t believe my ears.

“He is, and he’s in good spirits, the Canadians reported. He’s in police custody in Hazelton, a tiny municipality in British Columbia.”

My relief was overwhelming, and a sob escaped me. “Thank Jesus.” Then it hit me. “He escaped?”

Coulson grinned widely. “According to what he told the police, he built a bomb and blew the place up.”

“A bomb?” Auden asked. “How?”

“Fertilizer and fuel. We’ll have to get the details from Dr. Coombe himself.”

Auden slowly shook his head. “Leave it to York to MacGyver his way out. Your man is something else, Quillon.”

My man. I had to swallow before I could answer him. “He sure is. And I’ll tell him that every day for the rest of his life.”

And then I broke down sobbing, only stopping long enough to say yes when asked if I wanted to fly in with the FBI to retrieve him. My eyes were still puffy and gritty when we landed. A car was waiting for us, and within fifteen minutes, we pulled up to a tiny police station and got out. I bounced on my feet. Coulson must’ve understood because he stepped aside and winked. “He’s all yours for the first minute.”

I walked into the room. He sat in a chair, his back toward me. “York…”

He spun around so quickly the chair toppled over, but then he was in my arms, his cheek pressed against mine. “My nerdy…” I whispered. “Thank god you’re safe.”

“All I could think about was you,” York said softly. “How much you’d miss me and how pissed off you’d be with yourself over losing me. But it wasn’t your fault.” He leaned back, his brown eyes so full of love it took my breath away.

I kissed him hard. “I won’t let you out of my sight again. Ever.”

His lips curled up in a smile. “Is that a threat or a promise? Because I can live with that…”

“That’s good, but I wasn’t asking. I’m telling you, okay? It’s you and me, nerdy. Forever.”

“Like I said, I can live with that…”

He needed to be debriefed, of course, but I stayed by his side, holding his hand as he recounted everything that had happened. The man had built a bomb out of fertilizer and diesel fuel, then ignited it by using the sun, for fuck’s sake. How many people would’ve thought of that?

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