“I need to pee,” she said anxiously.
“It’s okay, I won’t look.” Really, he’d seen every inch of this woman, he couldn’t imagine why she would be worried about peeing.
“Okay, thank you. I won’t be a minute,” she said.
In the silence came an epiphany. He was spectating up here. This wasn’t who he was. He needed to act. To do something positive. How had Molly distracted him? Made him run and hide? He had to figure out how to keep her away from harm, but until he took the fight to the Russians, he would be sitting atop this hill forever. Well, metaphorically anyway.
Molly had to know someone in Athens, or even Greece, who could pick her up, shove her in the trunk, and get through the roadblocks and out to the countryside somewhere. When she was safe, he and Brandon Peterson needed to talk. Screw his Russian girlfriend. This was beyond that. Peterson needed to come clean, so the blame for these explosions, and the assassination wouldn’t land at the USA’s feet. Because a new world war, or even just a cold war with the constant threat of nuclear action would taint this whole generation.
This was bigger than him, bigger than Molly even, and dammit, he was going full-steam to the source. He half wished Mal were there. The annoying bastard would be useful right about now. Scared of nothing, and caring about nothing is the ideal state of mind for a soldier, something he suspected Mal knew only too well, if the rumors about him were true. That was the main difference between them. David had been trained to care about his country and his brothers in arms. Mal was mission-focused. Nothing got in the way of the mission. Which was an attitude he could have used right about then.
As soon as Molly got back, he’d make her figure out who she could call to keep her safe while he waded back into the thick of it. Back to his comfort zone. No wonder he’d felt off his game, running from hiding place to hiding place. But he hadn’t really had a choice with Molly with him. He didn’t fancy her chances with the SVR, that was for sure.
Where was she? She must have needed to pee really badly. And then his thoughts sped up and skidded to a halt when he remembered her face as she took the remnants of their meal to the trash can. He’d been almost certain that she’d been considering doing a runner. Surely she couldn’t be that crazy? A slow dawn of reality hit him. She didn’t trust him to keep her safe. To give good advice. He couldn’t really blame her. He’d broken his promise to her last year, and all he seemed to have done this year was to keep leading her into trouble. The bad guys had turned up everywhere they’d escaped to. She was right. She was dead right. He was useless. Even his company-mandated therapist had told him that he shouldn’t trust his instincts until he’d fully recovered. And that’s all he’d been doing—using his instinct. His shoulders slumped as he turned, hoping against hope that he was wrong. That she trusted him, that she’d stay with him.
He watched the path she had taken, his heart racing, almost making him light-headed. Come on, Molly, he urged. Please trust that I can keep you safe. Please don’t leave. He paused, the weight of his past rolling in waves through his body. He took a breath and tried to shake it off. He was still in the middle of a mission, and he couldn’t break down now. He clenched his fists. He didn’t care what she thought. He would save her. And then he would have to let her go.
He tried to shake off the lingering doubt he had in his own abilities as he ran back the way they’d come, making controlled slips down the scree on the hill. “Molly,” he hissed. He got to the base of the hill, opposite the gates to the Parthenon, and found no one. The path went two ways, broad and flat, and easy for her to run down in sneakers. He took a fifty-fifty chance and went back the way they’d come.
After about five minutes of running, he knew he’d chosen the wrong path.
Maybe the universe was telling him something.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Molly had figured he’d choose the path they’d been on before, so she’d chosen the other one. It had been a longer way down, but also more familiar to her. They’d been able to drive up that path with their equipment on a dig a few years past.
She was proud of herself. She’d done something to save David from getting in trouble and losing everything again. She didn’t want him to have to worry about her.
Her plan was to make her way slowly to the US embassy by the time it opened, and to sit in the visa waiting area until someone noticed her. It was the best way not to be arrested by the Greeks or the Russians, but to be on sovereign American soil, and hopefully safe. It would also buy David some time to disappear. She figured that with all the sirens at the recent blast site, the number of police out looking for her might be halved or better.
She wandered Monastiraki as the moonlight faded and the slow rise of the sun started to brighten the sky. Shopkeepers were already sweeping the areas in front of their shops, slopping water over the sidewalks to get rid of take-out food remnants that partiers had dropped on the ground. If she wasn’t so scared about what might happen to her in the next day or so, she could enjoy this time of day. The temperature was much cooler, and the air drier and fresher.
She pushed on through the back streets toward the National Archaeological Museum, a good mile or so away from the sirens and David. She’d stayed near there in a bed and breakfast when she had been studying at the American Archaeological School. She was familiar with the streets and rhythm of the day there. Also, her favorite coffee shop would be opening soon.
She hoped he would forgive her for leaving, but it was a matter of life or death for her that he not be involved anymore. It wasn’t until he’d made fun of her when she mentioned marriage, that she realized he’d never made fun of her before…never really cracked a joke even. Until then. And she’d understood how hard he’d been working at keeping focused. He was great at his job—and in some ways she could see that it had been his salvation—and she wasn’t going to allow him to lose it over her.
People started to populate the streets, and storefronts started to open, including her favorite coffee hangout. It wasn’t really a hangout in the normal sense, it was a place with no chairs, just stand-up tables and a bar where people ordered their strong coffee and a pastry and watched a tiny TV screen in the corner as they drank and ate. Starbucks it was not. Most people stayed for no more than five minutes unless they were chatting to someone.
She slipped in an asked for an espresso and an egg custard pastry. The barista wasn’t the same one who’d been there a few summers ago, but then Molly didn’t really feel like catching up right now. She took her breakfast to one of the tables and sipped the hot brew. The news was playing on the television, and as she ate, she watched the footage of the explosion.
It had been at the Russian embassy. Her heart sank. She couldn’t imagine anything worse, although thankfully it seemed no one was in the building at the time, except a security guard. She wondered if they were going to blame it on America, as they had before.
She took a bite of her still warm pastry and chewed slowly. Vanilla cream flooded her mouth with memories of better times. And then she choked. She couldn’t imagine anything worse than the embassy being bombed? She could now. She inhaled and choked on a tiny piece of flaky pastry as her face flashed up on the TV screen. She didn’t understand much—her modern Greek language was really rusty, but she didn’t really have to. David’s photo flashed up beside hers, and an icy cold dread washed over her. It wasn’t just America that was being blamed, it was David and her specifically. And she’d left David without him knowing. What were the odds that he’d find himself somewhere with a TV? Shit. What had she done? She cleared her throat to try to get the remaining dry crumbs out of her throat, and noticed the barista was on the phone. He was ignoring four or five customers. How long had he been on the phone? Could he be…?