Page 155 of The Wrong Husband
They kept him back, in exchange for the prisoners. He sent me that last message right before he left to meet with the rebels.
And somehow, I knew.
Knew his life was in danger before James came to me.
Knew,even before he left, that something was going to go wrong. That gut-deep dread, the kind you can’t shake, sank into my bones the second he kissed me and said he’d be back soon.
I knew his life would be in danger, even before he left. That’s why I didn’t want him to leave.
And now, seven desperate days later, that same unshakable instinct is the only thing keeping me upright.
Because if something had happened—if the worst had happened—I wouldknow. I wouldfeelit in the hollow where my soul sits waiting for his return.
Each time despair claws at me, I fight it. I stare into the abyss of everything that can go wrong and refuse to give into it.
I can feel him in my heart. In my marrow.
With every breath I take, I know he’s alive. Hewillcome back to me. I believe in him. In us.
"Your presence made a difference today." The team leader of the Kandor outpost of the Save the Kids charity mops his forehead.
I arrived with James and Brody, to help Quentin facilitate Connor’s safe return. And once we arrived, I kept busy, using my training as a trauma specialist to help the wounded.
"We are truly grateful for your help." The team leader smiles tiredly at me. He’s employed by the charity and educated in England, though he’s originally from a nearby province.
"It’s the least I could do." I wrap my arms about my waist.
I’ve never been more grateful that I’m able to use my skill set to save lives.
The team leader runs his fingers through his graying hair.
"Get some rest. We don’t need you running yourself into the ground." He pats my shoulder, then walks in the direction of the nurse who’s been hovering in the background.
They’re hugely short-staffed. When they found out I was a qualified trauma specialist, they welcomed me with open arms.
I can’t remember the last time I slept. Or ate, for that matter.
Each time I close my eyes, I remember the last time I saw Connor’s face.
How he lovingly swept his gaze over my features. How I felt something shift inside me. How I wanted to tell him I love him and, yet, held back. I wish I hadn’t.
I wish I told him that before he left. Fatigue weighs at my eyelids. The team leader’s right. I should rest up, but I'm too restless.
I head for the cabin that the team converted into the rescue operation’s command center, to get an update.
I’m so preoccupied, it’s only when my brother calls my name, I realize he’s standing in front of me.
One look at my face, and his features soften in sympathy.
"He’s a survivor. He knows how to think on his feet. This is the kind of situation he’s trained for his entire career." James gestures to me to continue walking and falls into step with me.
"You never worked with him, did you?"
My brother shakes his head. The fact that he’s left his Michelin-starred restaurant in the hands of his second-in-command and come down here to strategize with Brody and Quentin tells me how important Connor is to my brother.
"He specialized in undercover operations, while I was a Marine. So different proficiencies, but similar mindsets."
"Do you miss it?" I’ve never thought to ask James that before. But I’m realizing, there’s a special edge that comes with being on the front lines. Not that I am… But being here, and seeing him in a different role, brings to mind that he used to be on active missions not very long ago, himself.
