On cue, the screen cut to a photograph. A handsome man with a good jaw standing beside a podium.
“Senior White House sources confirm that orders have been given for the arrest of activist and public speaker John Smith. Once considered a terrorist leader, Smith was exonerated of his crimes in dramatic fashion when evidence surfaced of former President Walker—”
From outside, the roar grew again, louder and louder. At first it sounded like a stereo turned to maximum; then thunder rolling overhead; then the howl of the crowd in a stadium. Finally the sliding sound of the jets blasting by. The hotel windows shook.
The newscaster continued, “While tensions have been running high since the initial attacks by the Children of Darwin, the Unrest Index currently stands at an unprecedented 9.2 . . .”
There was a knock on the door, and Shannon about jumped out of her robe. Coffee sploshed onto her hands. “Crap.” She muted the tri-d, yelled, “No housekeeping, thanks!”
“Shannon?”
She froze in the process of wiping her fingers on her robe. She knew that voice, though she wouldn’t have expected to hear it under these circumstances. Setting the coffee on the table, she walked to the door. A mirror over the side table bounced her reflection back, and she grimaced. There were lines on her cheek from the pillow, and, yikes, her hair. She ran a hand through it, accomplishing nothing at all. Then she took a breath, straightened her shoulders, and opened the door. “Hello, Natalie.”
Nick’s ex-wife looked pale and tired. “Hi.”
They stood like that for a moment, either side of the door, and then Shannon said, “Everything okay?”
“Can I come in?”
“Oh, yeah, sorry.” She held the door open, gestured. “The coffee hasn’t kicked in yet.”
Natalie walked into the suite, turned slowly, taking in the modern décor, the view, the obvious expense. Shannon could almost see her appraising it, imagining Nick here, judging the woman he had chosen instead of her.
Stop that. She’s never been anything but gracious. It’s not her fault that you’re falling for her ex.
The thought caught her, and she did a mental double take.
“Falling for”? When did “dating” become “falling for”?
The answer was obvious. Last night at the airport. Not because of what he did for Lee and Lisa, and not because he’d given her the right answer about the serum. She was glad of both, but grand gestures and political conscience were not the bedrock of love.
Nope. You started full-on falling for him when he apologized. When he said he would never doubt you again.
It was that last word that really did it. The semi-stated promise of a future that means something.
She realized she’d been standing blankly, and she shook herself. “Can I get you anything? Some coffee?”
“Listen,” Natalie said, turning to face her. “I don’t know where things stand between you and Nick. Or for that matter between me and Nick. But you saved my children’s lives. I’ll never forget that. And even if you hadn’t, I’d still be here, because you deserve to know that he’s alive.”
What do you mean, between you and Nick? I thought you two were—wait a second. “Who’s alive? What are you talking about?”
Natalie said, “You know, the first time he killed for Equitable Services, we sat up all night talking. I’m not some movie wife who doesn’t know her husband is a secret agent.”
“I—what? I never thought that.”
“I can’t do kung fu, and I can’t help him find terrorists. But we’ve made dinner together a thousand times, made love a thousand more. He fed me ice chips and rubbed my back while Todd was born. I held him when his father died.”
Shannon had been in a car accident once, gotten clipped from behind and spun into traffic, only an oncoming truck had kicked her car back around the other way, just in time to be hit again. Standing here in a hotel bathrobe, she was feeling that same dizzy vertigo. Fighter jets, mustering troops, cryptic proclamations, and now whatever this was. “Natalie—”
“Just let me finish, would you? I need to get this out.”
Shannon tightened the bathrobe, nodded.
“What I’m trying to say is that I’m not an idea, a concept of an ex-wife. Nick and I, our history, it’s real. He was my first crush, and he’s the father of my children.”
Oh God.
She’s still in love with him.
Astonishingly, the idea had never occurred to her. She and Nick hadn’t had a typical courtship, hadn’t faced the everyday awkwardnesses of a couple coming together. Hell, they’d barely had much that counted as a date: dinner, a bottle of wine, small talk. All things that Nick must have done with Natalie years ago. She knew Cooper loved his children, but she’d always assumed that, romantically, he and Natalie were done.
“I’m not telling you what to do,” Natalie said. “Honestly, I don’t even know what I want. And you can’t claim a person like calling shotgun.” She paused, as if reconsidering, pondering doing exactly that.
And if she does, what then? Badly as you want Nick, are you going to get in the way of a woman trying to put her family back together?
Before Shannon could answer that question, something on the muted tri-d caught her eye. It wasn’t the speed and efficiency with which the paramedics were working on the figures on the floor. Nor was it the fact that she thought she recognized the restaurant. It wasn’t even the security team holding back a screaming woman.
It was that the screaming woman was Natalie.
Nick’s ex-wife followed her gaze, saw the video. She winced. “I need to get back. My son is still—”
“Natalie,” Shannon said, “what happened?”
“A man attacked us yesterday morning at breakfast. He was after Nick, but Todd got in the way.”
“Oh my God.” Her hand flew to her mouth. “Is he—”
“He’s in a coma, but they say he’s going to be okay.” Natalie said the words steadily, facing them. She was strong, no question about that. “We were lucky. If this had happened anywhere else, Cooper would be dead.”
Natalie told the story in clipped sentences: The assassin taking down the guards like they weren’t there. Stabbing Nick. His heart stopping. The medics, not regular first responders but elite doctors in Epstein’s employ, somehow suspending his fading metabolic processes, then transporting him to a clinic for a surgery that sounded like science fiction. Nick waking to find his son in a coma and his country tearing itself apart. All of it happening while Shannon was unaware, while she tramped back from the airport and booked this suite and collapsed into bed.
“Can I see him?” Shannon started for the bedroom. “Let me get dressed.”
“He’s gone.”
She paused, turned slowly. “Gone?”
“Epstein is arranging a jet for him. He’s trying to get to Ohio.”
“He’s . . . what?”
Natalie’s exhale wasn’t quite a laugh. “Yeah.”
“Why?”
“There’s a scientist who has developed something extraordinary. Something Nick thinks might be able to prevent war.”
“I know,” Shannon said, “I’m the one who told Nick about it.” Not a jab, she told herself, not an attack, but there was nothing wrong with claiming her space. Natalie had history with Nick; she had this, this strange, intense life they both lived on the edge, and it wasn’t nothing.