Blown Away. Elle James
month had passed since Congressman Haddock’s death and TJ’s subsequent return from Conbanau. The government still didn’t know much more about who caused the death and destruction. Several terrorist groups claimed responsibility, contradicting themselves and sending Congress, the CIA and the president into an uproar for resolution and vindication.
TJ had spent the week following the explosion helping the CIA and the American government with the investigation and arranging for the congressman’s remains to be shipped back to the States. In between dodging reporters and trying to answer questions she didn’t have the answers to, she searched for Sean.
All the surviving casualties had been sent to the Conbanau Mercy Hospital following the explosion. Although TJ insisted she was all right, they’d kept her overnight for observation. She’d managed to slip from her room and find Sean in the mass-casualty chaos the hospital staff was ill-prepared to handle.
Although his head was wrapped in a swath of white gauze bandages, he was the Sean she’d spent two wonderful weeks with. He’d been hooked up to IVs and was unconscious.
TJ wanted him to wake and talk to her, to hold her in his arms and tell her everything would be all right. But he was unresponsive, either due to his injuries or the drugs loaded into his IV. She sat beside him until a nurse chased her back to her room.
Sick over the death of Congressman Haddock, she’d crawled into her lone hospital bed and fallen into an exhausted sleep. She didn’t wake until the nurse came through the following morning with breakfast.
TJ had waited until the nurse left the room and entered the next room down the hall. Then she slipped out to check on Sean.
When she reached the room she’d found him in the night before, another victim from the explosion occupied the bed Sean had been in.
As if in a fog, she checked the rooms on either side, afraid she’d been confused. Finally, she asked a nurse where Sean had been taken. The young woman checked her charts and then placed a hand on TJ’s arm. That’s when she was told Sean had been taken to the mortuary.
TJ stumbled on the path. Fewer people jogged on the dirt, choosing to keep their running shoes clean on the pavement. TJ preferred to be closer to the water and the relative solitude she could find in a city teeming with people.
The nightmares were only just beginning to fade and she liked to think she was getting her life back on track.
But then she’d gotten word from her contact in the CIA that the terrorist attack on the U.S. embassy hadn’t been the responsibility of Prime Minister Abediayi’s political opponents. Nor had it been any of the terrorist organizations claiming credit. The CIA suspected the death and destruction had been bought and paid for by an American citizen and they were digging into the case, more determined than ever to discover the organization or individual responsible.
Her mind had a hard time latching on to the news. An American had arranged for the explosion that killed Congressman Haddock, several legislative assistants, the American ambassador to Dindi and the Dindi prime minister, among too many others. The blast had also killed Sean McNeal, an innocent businessman.
TJ swallowed hard on the bile rising in her throat. With so many terrorist groups killing Americans, she found it hard to believe one of her own countrymen had done this terrible thing. The weight of the knowledge pressed down on her shoulders, slowing her feet until she came to a complete stop. She stared out over the canal, neither seeing the people on the other side, nor the rowers paddling canoes and kayaks along its smooth water.
All she could see was the glint of light in Sean’s eyes as he bent to kiss her. She could still feel the touch of his hand on her bare skin, smoothing down her back and lower. For a man she’d only known two weeks, he’d left an indelible mark. A mark she’d fought hard to erase.
She turned and headed back to her apartment, continuing along the dirt towpath. She caught glimpses of people on the parallel paved path through the trees. One in particular sailed past her, his dark hair and tall build striking a chord of familiarity. Her heart leaped inside her chest and she had to talk herself down from the jolt.
Because she was thinking about Sean, had her mind superimposed his image on the man jogging the other trail? Despite reasoning, she picked up her pace to match that of the man’s. Ahead, the two trails converged and she’d get a better view of him. Not that he was Sean. Sean died in Dindi. They’d taken him to the mortuary in the hospital’s basement and shipped him out even before TJ could visit the body for confirmation. All the paperwork had been in order and his family had requested that his remains be shipped immediately.
After all the hoops the American government had gone through to get Congressman Haddock’s body back to U.S. soil, TJ had questioned the speed with which Sean’s body had left the hospital and country. At the time, she’d attributed it to the fact Haddock was a congressman, and everything in the government moved slower.
The trees and brush grew denser for several yards and TJ lost sight of the jogger. When she reached the trail convergence, blood pounded so hard against her eardrums she couldn’t hear. A blond, athletic man emerged, not the dark-haired jogger she’d been racing to catch.
Feeling foolish, she slowed her breakneck pace, but she couldn’t help scanning the side roads leading up to K Street until she reached Rock Creek Parkway and headed north. Increasing her stride, she reached her street in less than fifteen minutes, cursing herself for allowing thoughts of Sean to manifest into a sighting.
After showering and slipping into work clothes, she pulled a bagel from the freezer and popped it into the toaster. Then she turned on the news, hoping the noise would fill her mind and block out the echoing sound of the explosion still ringing in her ears.
“WHERE HAVE YOU BEEN?” Kat Sikes stepped out of the conference room affectionately known as the War Room. In the ranks of the S.O.S. agents, shouting matches made it appear more like a war than a meeting of the minds. The good news was that everyone had a voice in the organization and no one was afraid to speak.
Still wearing the shorts and T-shirt from his morning jog, Sean had hoped to reach the locker room and shower on the fourth floor of the S.O.S. operations center without being waylaid. He stopped and faced Kat, his chest tightening at the dark circles beneath her eyes. “I was out jogging.”
“Now don’t look at me as though I’m going to fall apart.” She reached up and cupped his chin. “I’m okay. Really.”
“I worry about you.”
“I know. But I’m doing much better.” Kat smiled, although her lips were a little tight and her eyes were suspiciously bright. “Royce is looking for you.” Before he could respond, she turned back to the conference room and shut the door behind her.
Sean sucked in a deep breath and let it out. How long would it take to get over Marty’s death? The man had been his friend ever since they’d been in the military together. Marty had been the one to introduce him to Royce and the other S.O.S. agents, giving him a new purpose in life since his discharge from the Army Special Forces unit.
Marty married S.O.S. agent Kat Jenkins over a year ago after a very stormy courtship and almost getting her killed on a mission. Sean had stood beside Marty as his best man.
Forcing air past the tightness in his chest, Sean reminded himself to breathe. A terrorist set off that bomb at the embassy. A terrorist was responsible for Marty’s death.
If he’d been on time that day, he’d have died with Marty, a situation he preferred over the gut-gnawing guilt he harbored for his friend’s death. He should have died, too. Then he wouldn’t have to see Kat’s sad eyes or listen to her sobs in the night. She’d moved into one of the spare apartments in the upper level of the S.O.S. building shortly after Marty’s funeral. Right down the hall from Sean’s apartment.
He’d heard her crying when she thought no one was around and he blamed himself every day since the bombing for losing focus on the mission.
When he’d woken in the hospital late