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39

Em waits for me. I thought she'd be long gone by the time I finally returned to the room, utterly spent.

Using the intuition of a best friend, she doesn't ask me a thing. Instead, she acts like nothing happened and we're still going out. She knows she needs to get me off this ship.
I
know I need to get me off this ship. Walking into a packed nightclub wouldn't normally be my first choice in a case like this, but I really don't have a say in the matter.

Once we arrive, Emily only has eyes for the bar. Although, she does pause at the entrance. “Are you going to be okay?” she asks.

“I think so.”

We step inside and enter another world—music pulsing, dance floor thumping, disco lights flashing. She leads me through the throng, which includes the majority of our ship's company and many officers I recognize from the Hail and Farewell in Hong Kong.

While we wait at the bar for her margarita, I take in the very Western attire of most of the female patrons. These Aussies and Brits flaunt miniskirts, sleeveless tops, and plunging necklines. Em was right about that.…

When we first pulled into Jebel Ali, the executive officer personally spoke with us—just us, not the men—about the importance of wearing conservative attire when leaving the ship for liberty. He
highly recommended
long pants and long sleeves.

Em complied, kicking and screaming the whole way as she left the ship the first night. To her chagrin, she departed wearing one of my long-sleeved blouses.

I remember the eruption when she returned. “The XO can kiss my ass on the conservative dress!” she shouted. “Oh, my fuckin' god. You should have seen the Aussies and the Brits. I don't think they got the fuckin' memo!”

I was surprised she didn't rip the buttons out of my shirt in her haste to remove it.

Of course, conservative attire isn't an issue for me, so I'm comfortable as a clam tonight in my jeans and long-sleeved white oxford.

“You need to eat,” Em says, shouting to be heard above the fray. She lifts her margarita glass from the granite countertop. “Let's get a table.”

My eyes burn. From the bathroom floor to a crowded nightclub in the space of an hour. I'm starting to think I might have to join Em with the margaritas.

We've taken two steps away from the bar when I run into Rob Legrand and Brian Wilcox.

“Hey, Sara,” Rob says, leaning into my ear so he can be heard.

Brian chooses to wave instead of shouting.

I say hello in return, but I doubt they heard me. Behind us, the crowd on the dance floor moves as a singular gyrating organism to music that makes my lungs vibrate.

“This is my roommate, Emily.”

While Brian and Rob shake Emily's hand, I begin a slow scan to find open seating. My dead heart lurches when my eyes settle on Eric. He sits with his detachment pilots in a booth in the far corner.

“Hey, Em!” a man shouts, approaching her from behind. “Fancy seeing you here!”

She turns and gives him a hug, and they begin a loud conversation as if they've known each other for years. I'm guessing they met last night.

I can't turn away from Eric, though. He doesn't look good.

Brian and Rob have followed my gaze.

“So what did you do to him?” Rob asks. “Did you kick him or something?” He laughs at his joke until he sees my expression.

“No, he kicked me,” I say flatly.

“Ah,” he says, retreating.

It's an awkward moment and I'm not even going to try to cover it up.

Brian steps closer, leaning into me. “He told me about the two of you.”

I shift to face him. “What?”

“In confidence, of course.”

I try to appear indifferent, unaffected, but Brian sees right through it.

“I know it's none of my business, but whatever happened between you two … well, he's devastated.”

Devastated?
Devastated? I'm
the one he betrayed! I opened my soul to him! I shared my deepest secret and he used it against me! And
he's
devastated? Why, because he lost his go-to girl for sex on this deployment? Damn him.…

I peer over Brian's shoulder. Eric stares absently at a water glass he twirls on the table, his demeanor a far cry from what it was in the meeting. The pilots seated with him are engaged in animated conversation, but Eric remains isolated and withdrawn, clearly detached from anything happening around him, looking … devastated.

I turn back to Brian, leaning close to his ear. “Brian, have you known him long?”

“Since I taught him to fly the H-60 so many years ago. I was an instructor pilot then.”

“Did you just teach him or did you really know him?”

Brian steps away to let a group of three squeeze behind him on their way to the bar.

“We became great friends,” he says, leaning in again. “So much so that I know his background—all of it.” He looks at me knowingly.

“But I thought—”

“Just the squadron skippers, right? Normally, that's the case. But we're close, so he confided in me about that, even before I was selected as one of their pilots.”

“You were…?”

“Yeah. We've been through a lot together, and I'll be flying with Eric again whenever this mission gets called,” he says, pointing to the silver cell phone at his waist.

I look down at mine, the one I've worn dutifully 24/7 just as Animal ordered. Running my thumb along the smooth, thin edge, I think of Eric confiding in Brian, considering him a close friend. It doesn't match with a person who could deceive.

“Do you trust him?” I ask finally, looking up.

He responds without hesitation. “Absolutely.”

I put my fingers to my temples and squeeze. I'm going to fly apart if I don't.

Em waves her arms over her head to gain my attention. While Brian and I were talking, she has moved away and found a table.

“I, uh, I need to go,” I say.

Brian nods. “You take care, okay?”

As I walk toward Em, the energy ratchets higher. She's speaking animatedly with two men I've never seen before and motions for me to sit while continuing her conversation.

But they beat a hasty departure when Jonas trumpets his arrival. “Hello, ladies!” He's accompanied by Bartholomew and Collin. Admittedly, this trio is an intimidating one.

“Mind if we join you?” Jonas asks.

“Are you kidding?” Emily says. She hurriedly sits, adjusting her position to make room.

Bartholomew and Collin take seats next to her and Jonas moves in next to me. I slide over until I'm pinned against the wall.

“Nice that you're finally off the ship, eh?” he says.

“Oh my god, Sara. They have accents!” Emily giggles.

“Em, this is Bartholomew, Collin, and Jonas,” I say. “Guys, this is my roommate, Emily.”

“How do, love?” Collin asks.

“I do fine,” she says, starstruck. Emily is melting in her chair. How embarrassing.

“So how are you?” Jonas says.

He has just drawn a demarcation line between those on the other side of the table and us. With a turn of the head and a hush of the voice, he has transformed what was just a horribly loud, overcrowded pub into a small, intimate, private space. He speaks to me now as if we're the only two present. I feel myself backing into the wall, though.

“What's the matter, love?” he says. “You look uncomfortable.”

“I … I need to leave.”

“Shall we slip outside?” he asks, sliding over and standing.

I rush to escape the seat, instantly feeling better as I stand. But now, a rock-and-a-hard-place conundrum. I don't want to leave the “security” of a crowded room, but I'd do almost anything to gain a little space between me and Jonas—the space that collapses as his hand wraps around mine.

“You'd do well with some fresh air,” he says.

“No, I think I'd rather go by myself, thanks,” I say, trying to pull my hand away.

He holds it firmly. “Are you sure, love? You oughtn't be wandering alone outside.”

“I'm sure—”

“Let go of her,” Eric says, appearing out of nowhere. The command is growled.

“Well now, I don't believe this is any of your business,” Jonas says.

“I said let her go.” It's a tone that brooks no argument—except from me.

“I don't need your help,” I say, looking at Eric in defiance.

I turn to Jonas. “Let go of me.”

“Of course, love,” he says, releasing his hand. “Anything you ask.”

“Sara—” Eric says.

“I have nothing to say to you.”

I turn, needing a quick exit. Through the horde on the dance floor, I spy the lobby doors and hurry toward them, dodging, pushing and shoving partygoers en route.

Once outside, I stare up at the large, concrete barrier that surrounds the hotel, creating a buffer between it and the bustling streets that form the heart of Dubai's shopping district. Within the barrier, large potted palms provide the only texture and relief to the otherwise stark masonry that forms the hotel's outer facade.

I decide to stay within the hotel borders, moving hastily around the oblong-shaped high rise. As I do, I adjust to the relative silence, the concrete walls muting the sound of the city just beyond. I pass no one as I walk, the path eerily deserted, and Jonas's comment about wandering outside alone begins to gain a bit of leverage.

Reaching the rear of the hotel, I dismiss the thought, pacing in frustration, stomping on shadows. And then … a recognizable shadow. Eric's crosses mine as he moves toward me.

“Go away,” I say.

“Please, let me—”

“I don't want to hear it.”

I turn away, trapped. Hemmed in by the high walls.

“Let me explain.”

“There's nothing to explain!” I say, rounding on him. “You've lied to me from the beginning!”

“I haven't—”

“Tell me, how did I fare in your evaluation after we made love? What were the metrics for that!”

He steps forward, but I raise my hands in warning. “Don't … just … don't.”

“I haven't lied,” he says calmly.

“How can you possibly say that? Shall I make a list? You aren't a pilot—”

“I am a pilot. I went through flight training just like you. I belong to the Shadow Hunter squadron. I do their mission. All of it.”

“And you never told me you were a SEAL, which is the same as lying in my book.”

“I wanted to tell you. I did. I just wasn't ready.”

“Not ready? Why not? It's part of who you are. A big part. Why wouldn't you tell me something like that?”

“Because there's so much. There's so much about me…” He stops, pressing his lips together. “Look, I thought I'd have more time because I didn't think they were going to call you into that meeting. I didn't think they were going to pick you, which means you wouldn't have found out about me, and I could have waited for the right time to tell you everything.”

“Why didn't you think they'd pick me?”

“Because I argued against it. I argued against it and I can usually get people to see my way.”

“Using information I gave you in confidence!” My hands go to my hips, furious. “Eric, I trusted you! I'd never told anyone what happened with Ian and you just—”

“They knew Ian had drowned; I only confirmed that you'd come close.”

“But why bring it up in the first place?

“Because I needed something concrete. I was grasping—”

“For a reason to keep me off the mission? But I can do this!”

“I didn't say you couldn't do it.”

“Well then what? You think I might panic? Is that it?”

“No. I know you can keep your head. That was never a problem.”

“But you tried to keep me off! Why?”

He looks to the heavens before returning his gaze to me. “There's so much about this mission … so much you can't see.”

“Then enlighten me,” I say, crossing my arms.

He sets his mouth and his eyes close briefly. But when he opens them, it's clear he's not going to give me an answer.

“Then what? My flying?”

“No.”

“My systems knowledge?”

“No.”

He wipes his face, looking to the sky again.

“My pub knowledge? What?”

“None of the above. You were by far and away the best candidate.”

“But then—”

“In fact,” he says, “I spent so long arguing in your favor that when I changed my mind, they'd already been convinced. There was no going back.”

“But why wouldn't you support me?” I say, moving my hands emphatically. “Why would you change your mind?”

My voice has risen and I'm not sure how it got so loud.

“Why would the others agree and you not? And—”

“Because they're not sending the woman they've fallen in love with on a mission that could get her killed!” Eric has to raise his voice to be heard over me.

I step back, my ranting stopped cold.

“What did you say?” I whisper.

His arms drop to his sides, his palms outturned. “Sara, I love you.”

I stand, dazed, like a boxer on the receiving end of a swift uppercut. My brain churns, processing the words. But it's not the words themselves that have rendered me mute. It's the incredulity at my reaction—I
want
to believe him.

No, you can't, Sara. Fool me once … Fool me twice … You know the saying.

But time-tested adage or not, I want to believe him so badly, it hurts. With effort, I move my head side to side, but he stands unmoving, his gaze steady.

“Are you trying to shred my heart now for good measure?” I say, my voice strained. “Well, congratulations. Well done.”

“No, I—”

“Please go.” I pull my eyes from his and stare at the ground. It's a struggle to keep my head down, not to look. The wait is agonizing.