Page 16 of Wild Card (The Trident Trilogy 3)

Sarajevo, Bosnia, 1994

“Does your family live in the city?” Mack asked.

They had been working together in the conference room for about an hour. It had only taken Nejra a few minutes to feel completely comfortable with him. His deep, calm voice was almost hypnotic to her.

“I live with my brother,” she said slowly. “My parents were killed at the beginning of the war.”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” he said softly. “Were you close to them?”

Nejra looked up at him with confusion in her eyes. “Of course I was close to my parents. Aren’t you?”

Mack sighed and shook his head. “My dad was out of the picture before I was born. My mom’s blames me for it. She’s not a very nice person.”

“That sounds difficult,” Nejra said, looking down. “I’m sorry.”

“Not nearly as difficult as what you’ve been through—”

“I don’t know if that’s true. I had perfect parents for twenty-two years. I feel lucky to have had them at all.”

He smiled at her. “They were good people?”

She smiled back even though she had been taught not to smile at men. It felt so natural with him. “They were the best people. My mother was lovely, strong, and passionate. And my father was smart, quiet, and probably much too tolerant of his headstrong daughter.”

Mack grinned as she laughed. She finally seemed like she was settling down a little bit.

“You know it’s the father that guides a daughter’s confidence,” she said as she twirled the ends of her hair around her finger. “The bond between mother and daughter is unbreakable, but the father—how he treats his daughter—determines how she will let other people treat her when she’s an adult. At least, that’s how it was for me. My father made sure I knew how a woman should be treated—how she should be respected.”

Mack nodded. “I’m glad he gave you that confidence. Men should treat you with respect.”

Nejra was surprised and thrilled he was listening to what she said. She never talked this openly with any man, including her brother.

“Do you have any kids?” she asked tentatively. She wasn’t sure why she was hoping the answer would be no.

“No wife. No kids. This job makes it a little hard to have either.”

“You should have kids,” she said, releasing the breath she had been holding in. “You would be a good father to a daughter, despite the way you look.”

“Wait, what?” Mack’s hearty laugh rebounded off the walls of the small room. “Do I have to be good-looking to be a good dad?”

She raised her eyebrows and looked at him almost coyly. “You are very handsome. You know that. I mean the way you are, uh . . . What’s that word? I think it’s a Spanish word, umm—machismo. You have strong machismo.”

“I don’t speak Spanish—”

“You know—macho, tough,” she said, making a muscle with her very slim arm. “You are that way on the outside, but underneath, I sense you are a tender person.”

“I don’t know about that—”

“I do. I can see it in you,” she said, nodding. “If you ever have a daughter, treat her insides tenderly, but make her strong on the outside. It’s what my father did for me, and I think it’s served me well.”

“Yes it has,” he said, smiling at her. “I’m not sure if I’ll ever have kids. It’s not in my plans right now. Do you want kids?”

“Yes,” Nejra said slowly. “Well, I did. The war changed so much. Before it started, I wanted to get married and raise a family. Now, I’m not so sure—especially with my parents dying. War makes you think a lot about how short life can be.”

When he saw her eyes tear up, Mack put his hand on top of hers. She pulled her hand away quickly.

Mack jumped back and pushed his chair away from her. “I’m so sorry, ma’am. That was just instinct. I shouldn’t have touched you. I know better.”

“No. It’s m-my fault,” she said, trying to control the redness that was coming to her cheeks. “You just surprised me. I know you didn’t mean any harm. And please call me Nejra.”

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