Maybe it was the lack of “please” or “thank you” that made me dig my heels in enough to argue. “My place is here, with Hope,” I said. “I promised I wouldn’t go anywhere without her.”
The doctor had been already turning away and she stopped as if amazed to be questioned. It was Joe Marcus who stepped in.
“Hope’s done enough for the day. She’ll be heading back with us so there’s nothing for you here,” he said quietly, a host of meanings concealed beneath his measured tone. “But that guy will have family waiting for him. Going with him — maybe finding out his story — will put someone else’s mind at rest.”
Not much I could say to that, really, which was how I came to be sitting on an uncomfortable plastic chair in a hospital corridor at midnight, waiting.
He was in surgery for a fractured skull, I was told. They would let me know as soon as he was in recovery.
By chance I saw one of the same nurses who’d taken charge of the boy from the roadside the day before. I stopped her briefly as she hurried past and asked about him.
“I’m so sorry. He… didn’t make it,” she said. “We did everything we could but in the end we lost him.” She frowned at me, weariness in her face, her voice and her body. “I called Dr Bertrand last night. Didn’t she pass on the news?”
“No.” I shook my head. The nurse seemed disturbed enough for me to add a harmless fiction: “I’m sure she meant to — when she had a moment.”
The nurse nodded and dashed away.
I settled back in my chair. It seemed only yesterday that I had waited, on and off, for nearly four months in chairs like these. Waited for Sean Meyer to come back to me.
And he almost had.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Even though the Sean Meyer I got back was not the same man who left me behind in that split second between the finger pulling the trigger and the bullet leaving the gun, I still thought there might be a chance for us.
Right up until Mexico City.
Not that Sean went to Mexico City, and perhaps that omission was at the heart of the matter. His first time out in the field since his recovery had not ended well and he was vacillating about his whole future in the close-protection industry.
Parker refused to accept his resignation and instead persuaded him to take care of glad-handing clients at the office in New York while Parker himself went back to the sharp end of the game as needed.
For this reason, when a high profile assignment came up south of the border Sean stayed to co-ordinate things at home and I flew out there as part of a team that included Parker.
The Mexico City job had been hazardous but successful — one of those rare occasions when everything just goes right. It hadn’t been without incident but, even when we came under fire, the plans, backup plans and contingencies we’d put in place all unfurled like a dream and the clients were left seriously singing our praises.
In the army they drummed into us that no battle plan ever survives first contact with the enemy. I suppose there has to be an exception that proves every rule.
We landed at La Guardia on the return journey and Parker drove us into the city. He was still on a post-combat high. I’d never seen my normally calm and contained boss so buzzed up but his enthusiasm was infectious.
It hadn’t abated by the time he pulled up at the kerb outside my apartment building. Living closest to the office I was the last of the team to be dropped off, so it was just the two of us.
We sat there for a while in one of the company Navigators with the engine running quietly, still going over the details, trying to work out how something good could be made even better. Eventually — with reluctance, I admit — I climbed out to retrieve my bag from the back. When I slammed the Navigator’s rear door and turned, I found Parker waiting for me on the kerb.
“Thanks again, Charlie,” he said, a smile crinkling the corners of his eyes.
“What for?”
“For being a superstar,” he said. “Money can’t buy the kind of great publicity we’ll score from this job.”
He was grinning like a kid. On impulse, I stepped forward and gave him a hug.
Mistake.
Before I knew it he’d lifted and swung me round off my feet.
“Parker! You idiot, put me down.”
He did so, still grinning, but I saw the moment his expression shifted, saw those cool grey eyes flick down to my mouth and felt his arms tighten around me.
“Parker—” I said again. A warning this time, but it was already too late.
His head dipped. His kiss was a taste, a delicate nip that became a headlong plunge. His hands came up to frame my face, thumbs smoothing the line of my jaw, the hollow under my cheekbone, fingers at the base of my skull.
At that moment it would have been so easy to let myself fall into him, weightless. All the pent-up frustration, the feeling of utter rejection, the longing, suddenly came flooding out of me as I began to tumble. Just for a second I kissed him back almost on a reflex. Then reality jolted in.
I brought my hands up to grasp his wrists but he had already broken the kiss. He wrapped his hands protectively around mine and touched our foreheads together, still holding me close.
“I know, I know, I’m sorry. I promised myself I wouldn’t do this,” he muttered. “But…”
His voice trailed away. I swallowed and found it took effort to speak.
“I’m sorry too,” I said. “I should learn to keep my distance.”
He gave a soft laugh. “Well, every now and again I’m glad you don’t,” he said. “If only it could be ‘now’. And ‘again’…”
I made a noise of protest in my throat and shifted my hands. He released me at once.
“I’ll see you in the office tomorrow morning,” he said, stepping back and striving for normal. He cleared his throat. “Debrief is at oh-nine-thirty.”
“Yessir,” I said, smiling. “Nine-thirty? You going soft on us, boss?”
He grinned as he turned away, making a ‘don’t go there’ gesture with his hand, and threw back over his shoulder, “Get some rest, Charlie. You’ve earned it.”
I was still smiling as picked up my bag and slung the strap over my shoulder, watching the Navigator move out into traffic. I glanced up at the apartment block. I knew which windows belonged to the apartment Sean and I shared but there was no sign of life behind the glass.
I rode the lift up to our floor with the feel of Parker’s mouth still on mine like an imprint. I scrubbed my hands across my face not caring if I smeared my makeup. I never wore much anyway and a very long, very hot shower was first order of business.
As I unlocked our front door and moved along the hallway I called out, but there was no reply. The place was silent and empty. I felt my shoulders droop and wondered if it was with disappointment or relief.
At the edge of the living area I let the bag strap slide off my shoulder, unzipped it and dug inside for my gun case. I’d cleaned and stripped the SIG for transport in secure hold baggage, and I would clean it again before I reassembled it in the morning. But right now the shower beckoned.
I shoved the weapon and my boxes of spare ammunition into the gun safe mounted in the floor of the main bedroom, taking a quick glance round while I was in there. Sean kept the place so orderly it bordered on impersonal. I wondered if it was an indication of his state of mind.
I abandoned my travel bag and headed straight for the bathroom, stripping off as I went and leaving my travel-stained clothing where it fell. Then I stood under needles of water dialled lethally hot with my eyes closed and my hands braced against the tiles.
I don’t know how long I’d been in there but the glass walls of the shower cubicle were steamed opaque when Sean Meyer’s voice cut through the drumming downpour.