Page 124 of Ford

“I take it you two made up,” RJ said.

“Someone told me recently to open my eyes and see that Ford was holding on to me as hard as I was holding on to him. I guess I decided to believe it.”

Ford closed the door behind him, sat down and took her hand. “Done. He’ll send the email. Let’s try and get some sleep.”

Probably Scarlett should let go of his hand, let him climb up on the top bunk.

Instead, she let herself hear him.It’s not crazy or selfish or even weak to need someone.

And maybe it wasn’t crazy to believe in Ford and his promises either.

He let go of her hand and fished a clean shirt from his pack—the last of his shirts, probably—and then reached for her hand again.

Like she belonged in his arms.

Yanna’s words crept into Scarlett’s mind as she curled up on the bench beside him.I didn’t have to be the strongest one in the room. That maybe God had sent David. And that got my attention. David reminded me that maybe I wasn’t alone.

Not alone.

She settled her head on his leg, drawing his arm around her.

Somehow, she dropped off into hard sleep, and only the knock at the door from the conductor woke her up. That, and the way Ford eased her up. “Coffee?”

“Heaven?”

“Nearly.”

The conductor gave them instant coffee and hot water.

Good enough.

Across from them RJ was sitting up, watching the terrain.

Outside, the landscape turned into side by side Russian houses with blue or green roofs, unpaved roads, and the occasional fence, water pump, or milk cow. The city formed in the distance—century-old buildings, and a Russian Orthodox cathedral rising from the center, its gold dome glinting in the dawn.

By the time the train started to slow, Scarlett decided she probably could live another day.

“They’ll check our passports when we get off the train,” Ford said. “Ham said he’d have a guy there to wave us through.”

They pulled into a station, and it looked like every other Russian-built complex—orange-washed building, white pillars, a network of tracks, and a long platform with passengers waiting to board, most of them clutching duffel bags.

Ford hiked up his backpack. “Stay close to me.”

As if she would be going anywhere else.

Scarlett hooked her hand onto the back of his pack and edged down the corridor, lining up behind the other passengers. RJ held her passport and visa in her hand, her mouth a grim line.

They exited the car and followed a line of people toward a kiosk, guards with weapons and brown uniforms eyeing them.

“Ford?”

He’d taken Scarlett’s hand and now squeezed it.

No one intercepted them, but her throat tightened as they stepped up to the passport control booth.

Ford handed over their passports. Stared at the man inside who inspected them.

Her heart dropped when the man raised his chin toward the soldiers.

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