Total pages in book: 102
Estimated words: 98176 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 491(@200wpm)___ 393(@250wpm)___ 327(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 98176 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 491(@200wpm)___ 393(@250wpm)___ 327(@300wpm)
Soon, we’ll have to run again, hide again.
That is, unless I manage to bring down Sokolov and his allies.
My new plan is risky—insane, really—but I don’t see any other way. They won’t stop coming after me, and eventually, we’ll run out of places to hide.
The good news is that I already know the right people to execute this mission—the same team I used for the FBI bombing. They’re both unscrupulous and highly skilled, a worthy match for my opponents.
What I need now is to get my hands on the layout of Esguerra’s Colombian compound.
Then I can bring the fight to them.
63
Sara
I try to get Peter to rest, but he insists on making breakfast, and I’m too hungry to argue. He’s clearly feeling better today, his color back to its normal healthy hue and his movements only slightly stiff.
If I didn’t know he’d taken three bullets less than a week ago, I wouldn’t have believed it.
As we devour our omelets in the kitchen, I tell him about Nora and Rosa’s visit and the fact that I’d met them once, long before I knew him.
“Nora had miscarried?” he says, frowning, and I realize he must not have known about that.
“Yes. I’m guessing you’d left Esguerra’s employ by then?”
He nods. “I left right after I rescued him from the terrorist group that had captured him in Tajikistan. Remember how I told you he was pissed that I endangered his wife in the rescue? Well, she definitely wasn’t pregnant at the time—or if she was, I didn’t know it. I wouldn’t have let her talk me into using her as bait if I did.”
Right. Because Peter has a soft spot for babies. I saw the look on his face as he glanced at Lizzie, the agony mixed with tender longing. It broke my heart, even as it made me love him all the more.
He’ll be a wonderful father, as caring as my own dad had been.
“He’s not breathing. Sara, he’s not breathing.”
I’m already on my knees, pushing on Dad’s chest as I count under my breath, then bend over to breathe into his mouth.
His chest rises with the air I give him, then falls and remains unmoving.
Fighting my growing panic, I begin the chest compressions again.
One, two, three, four—
“Sara!”
Gasping, I stare up at Peter in confusion. His face is a mask of worry as he holds me by my upper arms, and we’re both on our feet, even though I was sitting and eating a second ago.
“What happened?” I ask hoarsely as he sits down and pulls me onto his lap, wrapping his strong arms around my trembling body. I’m glad he’s holding me because I’m not sure I could remain upright on my own. My heart rate is in the supersonic zone, and icy sweat is dripping down my back.
“You went white, and then you started hyperventilating.” His voice is strained. “And when I touched you, you began screaming.”
“I… what?” My throat is sore as well, I realize as I shakily reach up to touch it.
“I want you to see a therapist.” His silver gaze is hard. “As soon as possible.”
I shake my head on autopilot. “No, I’m f—”
“You’re not fine.” His arms tighten around me. “You had a full-on flashback. You weren’t here; you were elsewhere. What did you see? Was it your parents? Did you see them die?”
I flinch, the spear of pain like a bullet through my heart. “No,” I lie in desperation. I can’t talk about this, can’t think about it at all. I can feel the dark memories bubbling under the surface, threatening to suck me in. “It’s not that. It’s just—”
I land painfully on my side, my head banging into the side of the couch as another shot rings out and a warm, metallic spray hits my face and neck.
“Peter!” Terrified for him, I scramble to my knees, wiping the blood out of my eyes—and then I see it.
Mom sprawled on the floor, her face splattered with blood.
Or rather, most of her face.
Part of her cheek and skull is missing, leaving a bloody hole where a cheekbone used to be.
“Sara. Fuck, Sara!”
Peter’s face is like a thundercloud as he stares down at me, his eyes narrowed and his big body tense. He must’ve been shaking me, trying to get me to come out of the flashback, because my skin feels bruised where his fingers had gripped my arms with excessive force.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper raggedly. My pulse is in the stratosphere, my throat as raw as if I’d swallowed thorns. I don’t understand why this is happening, why all of a sudden, my mind is playing these awful tricks on me.
“No, don’t.” Releasing my arm, he cradles my cheek, his broad palm warm on my frozen skin. “Don’t be sorry, my love. It’s not your fault. None of this is your fault.”