Longest Night (24 page)

“If you hadn't, my brother wouldn't have sent me to you,” he pointed out quietly.

“You're here now. That's what matters. But that's also why you should know…”

She fell silent, and this time he waited, feeling the unusually fast beat of her heart, at odds with her slow, carefully controlled breathing. The line of her back was rigid against the firm mattress, and her fingernails scratched short lines over his hand. The fire's warmth slowly stole over them, and he relaxed a bit more, easing his foot against hers to get that much closer.

“They had me for five days,” she said softly. “At least, that's what they told me—the soldiers from Samaritan. I only really remember three, I think.”

Heart pounding, Ian shook his head, suddenly wanting to find a way to silence her. In his career, he'd heard all manner of horrors, but this…this was too much. He'd seen the video. Bad enough that his imagination had filled in what might have happened before and after. He wasn't certain he was strong enough to hear it in her own voice.

“You don't have to go through this,” he insisted.

“It's all right,” she said, voice strained, making her words a lie. “They didn't have much in the way of medical treatment. There were three of us, all wounded. They stopped the bleeding, but that was about it. Then they—the video.” Her fingers clenched tight around his hand. She stared up at the ceiling, expressionless. “I'd seen it happen before. We all had. Sometimes they'd release hostages—usually the journalists or contractors—but a lot of them ended up dead. Beheaded, mostly.”

His heart leaped into his throat. “Cecily,” he whispered.

Her hand held his even more tightly. “They usually filmed it. So when they pulled us in for the video…I thought that was it. I didn't know that much Arabic, so I didn't know what the hell they were saying. Then they shut off the camera—” She cut off, her inhale sharp and jagged.

“Did they…”

“No.” She shook her head and met his eyes.

Guilty relief crashed through him. She'd suffered terribly at their hands, but at least she'd been spared the horror of sexual assault. He took a deep, shaky breath and tried to find something to say, but the words weren't coming to him.

She turned back to look up at the ceiling. “After the video… That's when
this
started,” she said, gesturing at the blanket—at the scars hidden under the blanket. “I never figured out
why
. Ackerman and Dowd… None of us spoke Arabic worth a damn. We never knew what they were saying—what they wanted.”

Ian went cold, rubbing his fingertips over the blanket as if he could erase the scars below it. She hadn't been interrogated. She'd been
tortured
, for no reason. They'd made their video and documented their brutality, but the torture had continued, possibly up until the moment the rescue team had arrived.

It was no wonder she hadn't healed after seven years. There wasn't a shred of logic for her mind to use, to rationalize the reason behind what had been done to her, except for the senseless cruelty of war. She couldn't even feel pride in her ability to resist them because they'd made no demand of her.

“You survived,” he said, his voice rough, strained with the effort to sound comforting. “That's all that matters.”

“I know.” She sighed again and whispered, “I keep telling myself that.”

Grief tore at him, though he tried to hide it. He let go of her hand because he needed to hold her. But just as he moved, so did she, thrashing at the blanket to roll over and face him. He ended up on his back, holding her close against his side, her head resting on his shoulder.

Cecily needed him. She needed him to be strong, not furious that she'd been targeted and hurt for no reason, not bleeding inside at the thought of what she'd endured. But he couldn't find the cool distance that had helped him through all the fights with his parents and the trials of college and law school. She'd slipped right through his defenses, and it felt as if he were sharing every one of her wounds somewhere deep inside, unseen.

Somehow, he kept from asking her what he should do. He couldn't put that burden on her, because she wouldn't have an answer. Maybe there wasn't any answer at all, except what he was doing now. “Being there for her” seemed a poor solution to Ian; he was accustomed to actively taking charge and
doing
something in the face of a problem. For now, though, it would have to be enough.

So he held her, patient and silent, and listened to the sound of her breathing for hours that felt like days.

December 29

“You shouldn't need to do anything,” Cecily said, a tiny frown drawing her brows together as she stared across Marguerite's kitchen table. “We're coming back for a couple of weeks next summer, and if not, I can probably get someone from town to check up on the pipes and things.”

Lunch had come and gone, starting with the venison roast she had cooked last night and ending with a pie Marguerite had baked. Outside, the weather was still cold but felt balmy in comparison to the long winter. The midday sun was painfully bright in the cloudless sky.

Last night, Cecily and Ian had driven the snowmobile to Marguerite's house, towing the trailer of luggage and essentials that would travel with them back to Manhattan. Ian had spent an hour carefully cushioning the precious antlers that had resided in a place of honor on the living room fireplace mantel. She'd insisted upon bringing her old manual typewriter.

They'd spent the night in one of Marguerite's guest rooms, and then packed her pickup truck that morning. The road to Marguerite's house had been buried under snow, but Ian had made a radio call to Pinelake a few days earlier and arranged for Mark to use the airfield's snowplow to clear the way. Marguerite would drive them to Pinelake, where Cecily had arranged for one of the residents to fly them and their luggage to Little Prairie.

Marguerite smiled reassuringly and said, “It's not a problem. And if you need me to ship you anything, don't hesitate to call.”

“Thanks.” Cecily smiled and reached across the table to take her hands. “You've been the best friend I could ever ask for, Mags.”

Blinking back tears, Mags squeezed her hands and said, “I'm going to miss you two. You have to call me when you're settled in. It's been a long time since I've visited Manhattan.”

“I'm not certain that's safe, turning you loose in my city,” Ian teased. Marguerite's elegant beauty would turn heads in any nightclub—and no one would ever expect her sharp intellect or her solidly practical demeanor.

Cecily huffed, hiding a laugh. “For that, you get to help with dishes. I'll go finish packing the truck,” she said, rising.

“Oh, he doesn't have to,” Marguerite protested.

“Yes, he does. You're doing us enough of a favor, driving us to town again.” Cecily leaned down to kiss his cheek before she left Marguerite's warm, cluttered kitchen.

After an entire winter of cleaning by hand, he started to scrub the dishes automatically, only to have Marguerite point out that she had a perfectly good dishwasher. He started to load it, listening as Cecily put on her boots and left through the front door.

As soon as the door banged shut, Marguerite walked up next to him. “Ian—”

“I'm not going to hurt her.” He straightened and flexed his shoulders, feeling only the mildest twinge of pain in his back.

“Good. Because remember, she gave me her hunting rifle,” she warned with a sweet smile as she started handing over glasses.

He laughed, glad Marguerite's loyalty was unshakable, and slid out the top rack of the dishwasher. “I won't let anyone hurt her. I promise. And if she needs to come back…then
we
will.”

She avoided his eyes as she rinsed each glass and passed it to him to put on the rack. Only when she started handing over the silverware did she say, “I'm sorry. I've been meaning to say it for months, but…with everything that happened, with you both preparing to leave and then not leaving… I'm worried. But I know she'll be all right.”

He nodded and closed the dishwasher. He reached past her for a dish towel to dry his hands. “You were right.”

“I—I was?”

He waved a hand and dropped the dish towel. “You recognized what we had before I did.”

Slowly, Marguerite smiled. “Have you told her?”

He shrugged and took off his glasses to brush off a stray hair on the lens. “She's not ready. I don't want to push her.”

“How do you know?”

He smiled. “When she's ready, she'll tell me.”

***

They left most of their luggage at the Little Prairie airport, to be loaded onto the charter plane in time for their early morning departure. Cecily insisted on carrying their rucksack of clothes and toiletries out to the taxi to spare Ian's back. He started to argue and then stopped himself, kissed her cheek, and turned his attention to his phone.

She half listened to his call while staring out the windows, waiting for the anxiety that never came. She'd double- and triple-checked everything. The cabin was secure. Mags would check on things. Mark volunteered to go up there if she called and needed something. It was
fine
.

“Cecily?” She looked over at Ian, who was holding the phone out to her. “Preston wants to talk to you.”

Surprised, she took the phone. “Hello?”

“Captain Knight,” Preston answered. After months of living with Ian, she could hear the similarities in their voices. She suspected Preston was smiling.

“Cecily, please,” she invited with a smile of her own.

“Then call me Preston.” This time, there was a hint of laughter in his voice. “I haven't had a chance yet to thank you for letting Ian stay with you. This means everything to me.”

She turned her smile on Ian, who looked curious, though he wasn't attempting to listen in. “Me, too,” she admitted.

“I'm happy for you—for both of you,” he said, his warm approval plain to hear. “But listen, there are a couple of things I want to talk to you about.”

Apprehension teased at the back of her neck, making her sit up a bit straighter. “Go ahead.”

Preston had been in the military; he knew how to skip past the bullshit and get to the heart of the matter. “First, if Manhattan doesn't work out, you've both got a place with me. Ian is licensed to practice law down here—he's helped out with a couple of contracts—and we could really use someone full-time. It's corporate, not criminal, so it's a little safer, too.”

“My degree is in electrical engineering.”

“I was thinking more about your marksmanship scores—and you've got training in logistics. You'd be perfect for new-hire training and mission coordination.”

Interest sparked through her unexpectedly. She'd been so focused on the actual move that she'd barely given thought to what she'd do once she was in Manhattan. She could continue writing—she
would
continue writing—but she'd never be able to afford her fair share of the cost of living in Manhattan. For Ian, she'd try her best to make a new start of life in Manhattan, but she was a soldier. She liked having backup plans. But would Ian be willing to leave the city he loved?

“I'll think about it,” she said, glancing at Ian, who was looking back at her steadily, without worry.

“Thanks. This next part, you can consider advance notice. As soon as our mother hears about you, she'll want to meet you.”

“Is that good or bad?”

Preston laughed. “Good. We've had our differences with our parents, but…I'll leave it at that. She'll be thrilled to know he's found someone good for him.”

A hint of guilt crept through her. “Am I?”

Instead of answering immediately, Preston hummed thoughtfully. “Ian and I have always been close—closer than we are with our younger sister, Amelia. He's passionate. Throws himself into everything he does. Just wait until you see him in the courtroom.”

The thought made her smile. Ian had described a younger Preston the same way: passionate and impulsive. “I kind of picked that up,” she said discreetly, wondering if Ian knew they were talking about him. Probably. Nothing slipped past him.

“He needs someone practical. Someone who's tough and smart and who won't take any bullshit from him.”

She laughed and turned to look out the taxi window to hide the way her face had gone hot. “Practical. Got it.”

“You'll do fine. And if you need anything at all, let me know, okay?”

She smiled at her reflection. Her free hand crept across to rest on Ian's knee, and his hand covered hers. “Thanks, Preston.”

Warmly, he answered, “Welcome to the family, Cecily.”

***

“So, what did Preston say to you?” Ian asked as he pushed open the hotel room door. He suspected he knew the answer to that already; he knew his brother all too well.

She walked in, carrying the backpack she used in lieu of a proper suitcase. “Welcome to the family. That sort of thing.”

“Did he warn you about our mother? She'll want to meet you.” He abandoned his carry-on and caught Cecily around the waist, burying his face in her hair. “How tired are you?”

She hummed thoughtfully, covering his hands with her own. “Exhausted,” she said, tipping her head back against his shoulder. She lifted up on her toes so she could kiss his jaw. “But not
too
exhausted.”

He grinned playfully at her. “We could get doughnuts.”

She blinked in surprise. “You—” Then she laughed and twisted in his arms, giving him a playful push toward the bed. “We are
not
getting doughnuts tonight.”

He allowed himself to drop back onto the edge of the bed, pulling her down with him. “Then what are we doing tonight?” he asked.

“All I want is to spend the night right here, with you.” She sat down beside him, then shrieked out a laugh when he rolled her onto her back. He propped up on his elbows and looked down into her eyes. There wasn't a hint of panic or tension in her, and he couldn't help but feel smugly proud of himself, knowing that he'd helped her just as much as she'd helped him.

“Preston reiterated his offer for me to come work for him full-time.” He rolled off her to lie on his side, facing her.

She rolled over to face him, frowning. “What about your law firm? Isn't being a partner a big deal?”

“Well, yes. But I've been out for a long time, first with the accident, and then…everything else.” He shrugged, remembering how proud he'd been to make partner. He'd worked himself half to death, and the price had been higher than he'd anticipated. Even now, a little voice in the back of his head was whispering that he'd need something stronger than ibuprofen to cope with this lousy hotel mattress and tomorrow's plane ride.

“Do you really want to work for your brother?”

“We actually get along very well. And he's making ridiculous amounts of money ever since he branched out into domestic private security.”

She nodded, moving a hand up his arm to brush her fingertips over his jaw. He hadn't bothered shaving that morning, mostly because he'd noticed that she couldn't resist touching his stubble. “Isn't Samaritan based out of DC?”

“Sort of. He has an office in DC, but the main headquarters is in Virginia. It's nice there.”

Her body went tense; her fingers stopped moving. “Nice.”

“Nice,” he agreed. “New building, training compound of—”

“Don't give me that,” she snapped. “Virginia's all trees and hills. You
love
Manhattan. City boy, remember?”

“All I'm saying—”

“Is that you're coddling me?” She twisted away from him to lie on her back. “Screw that.”

He reached out to catch her hand. “All I'm saying is that we have
options
. I'd probably end up working in DC at least part of the week, and DC
is
a city. Apparently one with traffic that's more fucked-up than Manhattan.”

She narrowed her eyes, studying his face. Finally she relaxed and turned onto her side to face him once more. “You love Manhattan.”

“And Manhattan is what got me into trouble in the first place,” he reminded her. “Yes, I love the city, but Manhattan's only a train ride away from DC, so it's easy enough to come back. And for what I'm paying on this apartment, we could get a house with a huge yard down there.”

She took a deep breath and squeezed his hand before she intertwined her fingers with his. “We don't have to decide anything now.”

“No, we don't. And it wouldn't be easy. I'm already allowed to practice law down there, but I'd probably have to go back to school. Take some more classes on contract law.” He leaned in and gently kissed her. “We have time, Cecily. What I said hasn't changed. You're worth waiting for.”

She squeezed his hand. “We don't have to decide anything now.”

“No. No, we don't…” He took a deep breath and looked into her eyes, steeling himself. He'd never lacked for courage, but now he hesitated. He'd faced down death threats from convicted killers without backing down. Now, though, his chest went tight, and his eloquence failed him.

She tipped her head, looking up at him curiously. “Ian, is something—”

“I love you.”

The words slipped out, silencing them both. Furious with himself, he looked away, unwilling to face the possibility of her rejection. For all those months, he'd held back, waiting for her to decide when she was ready, and now he'd gone and blurted it out without any sort of plan.

When he finally turned back and met her eyes, she smiled. “I love you, too,” she said quietly.

“You've never said that before,” he said inanely.

Instead of taking offense, she shrugged, a smile playing at her lips. “Neither have you. Both our faults, then.”

Slowly, the fact that they were in accord filtered through his fear, and he reminded himself he was being irrational. He'd known for months that he loved Cecily. The words themselves were just that—words—even if hearing them from her somehow made it all
real
.

“Ian?” she asked tentatively, touching his face.

He shook his head, dismissing his thoughts, and kissed her fingertips. “Now you're ready to leave.”

“What?”

“Remember I said when you were ready, you could tell me how you feel?”