Page 15 of Depths of Destruction
My sister falls asleep quickly. I drift in and out of sleep, worried about what is going to happen and why the U.S. wants me. Anytime I wake up, Andre is sitting next to the bed on the floor, watching over us.
"Are you going to sleep?" I whisper at one point.
He tucks a lock of my hair behind my ear. "I don't require much."
"No?"
"No." He takes his finger and strokes my cheek. "Go back to sleep. You need your rest."
"My mind is racing."And my pulse from being next to you.
"You can't do anything about your thoughts tonight. Close your eyes."
I don't know why I do it, but I reach for his arm, slide my palm along his skin, and lock my hands around his fist. I put it right next to my head. In the morning, when I wake up, I'm still gripping his hand as if he can save me from whatever fate I'm up against.
4
Andre
All night,I watch Naomi fall in and out of sleep, gripping my fist.
Is that all you are? A yes man?Naomi's voice is on repeat in my head, making my gut churn.
I never question my orders. I didn't in the Marines, and I don't with Interpol. There is a hierarchy of order. You follow it, or people end up hurt or dead.
What if Naomi becomes the victim because I don't ask questions?
I told her I would find out. I promised her.
Interpol wouldn't allow her to get hurt. I need to find out, then I can reassure her the intentions of the U.S. won't put her in danger.
But how does the U.S. know about her abduction?
And how did Interpol know where she was located so quickly?
It doesn't matter how many times I try to convince myself nothing is wrong, the pit in my stomach continues to grow. The more I stare at Naomi sleeping, the worse it grows. It's a feeling I've never had about an assignment before. For the first time ever, there is doubt about trusting Interpol. I've never had a reason to question any of their orders, and I struggle with this new situation.
But the ache I feel isn't only about her situation. It's a magnetic attraction I've never felt for any target, nor woman, in all forty-five years of my life.
I spend hour after hour telling myself to keep it professional. My role is to protect her, not hit on her. By the time the sun rises, I've memorized every part of her face and the sounds she makes sleeping. Her scent has been scandalously flaring in my nostrils all night. It’s a torture chamber I can't escape.
Nor do I want to.
I barely sleep, but years of being on missions have trained my body to run on little rest.
When Naomi's eyes flutter open, her sister has already woken and gone outside.
"Where's Emilia?" she asks in a panic.
"Outside using the restroom. She's fine."
She inhales and exhales deeply then scrunches her face. "There's a restroom?"
"Sure."
"Really?"
"Yep. You pick a tree..." I tease.
