“You know, I heard rumors.” Ben rubbed the back of his neck, giving me that pitying look I’d become accustomed to over the last six weeks. “But you hadn’t said anything, so I didn’t want to push—”
“Which I appreciate,” I said, cutting him off. “I’d just rather focus on the work we have here and leave Washington in Washington.” What I had to decide wasn’t for public knowledge, especially not in the gossiping fishbowl that was DC politics.
“Understandable.” His voice softened. “But just in case you need someone to talk to”—he reached for my shoulder—“I’m here.” With a sympathetic nod, he walked past me and into the conference room.
“Give me those.” Nate moved over and took the files from my arms without waiting for me to respond, and I nearly sighed with physical relief. “Whatever he’s asking you to share, don’t.”
“Really?” I asked, pivoting to face him.
“He’s . . .” Nate’s forehead crinkled, which meant he was searching for the right words. “He’s too eager for the information. Just a gut feeling.”
“Yeah.” I fought my smile, because he was right on the money. “He asked me out our first week on the Hill, and I’m not sure he’s ever really accepted that no.”
Nate’s brow furrowed as he glanced through the glass into the conference room. “Guys who wait for a woman to hit her lowest so they can make their move are pieces of shit.”
“Noted.” I pressed my lips between my teeth to keep from grinning.
“What?”
“You’ve always had the ability to judge someone’s character within minutes of meeting them, and I’ve never seen you proved wrong.” I shrugged, looking away quickly. “You know we don’t need a guard at the door, right? We’re in the embassy.”
“And I told you that for the next two weeks, I won’t be any more than a room away from you. Not until you’re safe and snug on a plane pointed stateside.” His gaze took a quick sweep of the files.
“But you’ll stay here, won’t you?” I whispered, my stomach sinking. Putting me on a plane would only guarantee my safety, not his. Never his.
“These names aren’t on our itinerary.” He arched a brow.
“They’re all SIV applications,” I said. “For Special Immigrant Visas.”
“For people employed by us,” he said. “I know what SIVs are. What are you doing with a stack of them?”
“I got the rundown on how to process them earlier and figured we could help out between meetings.” Looking over my shoulder, I noted how crowded the lobby was. “I walked into the waiting room, and every chair is full. They’re overwhelmed.”
“They are,” he agreed. “Good to see some things haven’t changed,” he said, turning to walk into the conference room. “You’re still trying to save everyone but yourself.”
Ice-cold water soaked my feet and panic seized my muscles, making my numb fingers useless as I fought with the seat belt. We were going under, and there was nothing I could do about it but sit there and drown. The screams around me filled my ears as I yanked harder and harder on the belt. The water rose to my knees, and I tried to cry out for help, but my throat wouldn’t work.
The sudden silence made me look around at the other passengers, but they were gone, all evacuated through the emergency exit across the aisle.
I was alone.
They all left me.
I forced out a scream, the sound garbled as the water rushed up my thighs and the floor lighting failed. There wasn’t enough air, enough time. I was going to die in here. The fuselage sank faster and faster, water rising around my chest, but the stupid belt was stuck.
Looking left, I saw the emergency exit open, but I couldn’t get there.
This isn’t right.
He wouldn’t leave me. He never left me. Not until I—
“Izzy!” Nate jumped through the doorway, splashing into the freezing water, then unhooked my belt with one flick of his hand, but he looked different. Thicker. Older. Harder. The name tape on his Kevlar read Green.
This was a dream.
With a gasp, I shot up in bed, my tank top soaked through with sweat and my heart pounding as I struggled for breath. My ribs squeezed like a vise, but I forced air in and out through my lungs. That was all it ever took to escape the nightmare. I just had to realize it was one.
Falling out of bed, I hit my knees and the carpet stung my bare skin.
This was real.
“My name. Is. Isabeau Astor,” I managed through the narrowing passage of my throat. “I was a passenger on flight 826.” There we go. That was a full sentence. “We hit the water. I made it out.” The words had been drilled into me through years of therapy, though they always took different forms, depending on the nightmare. “I swam to safety. I survived.” By the time I finished, my throat had opened enough that I could take a deep breath. Then two. “We survived.”
I glanced at the clock. It was four a.m.
Fresh air. I needed fresh air.
A beep alerted me that my door opened, and then it slammed shut, but the scant amount of moonlight coming in through the windows didn’t give me much visibility.
“Izzy?”
“In here.” My shoulders slumped in relief. There was only one person that voice could belong to.
“You screamed.” His shadow filled my doorway, and I could tell his weapon was drawn.
“It’s just me,” I assured him, wrapping my arms around my midsection.
He walked right by me, clearing my bathroom and then the area next to the window before flicking on the light on the nightstand behind me. “Fuck.”
That word was the only warning before there was a sound like him holstering his weapon. Then he lifted me into his arms, holding me close against his chest.
“I’m okay,” I promised, but that didn’t stop me from melting into his familiar embrace. He wasn’t decked out in that thick Kevlar vest anymore, not that I expected him to be at four in the morning. There was soft black cotton and a steady heartbeat against my cheek.
“Yeah, seems like it.” He walked us into the living room, then sat on the couch, holding me in his lap and clicking on the table lamp next to us. “Shit, you’re soaked.”
I should have moved, should have scooted to the other end of the couch, but instead, I tucked my legs up and curled into him for the simple reason that there was nowhere safer in this world.
“It’s just a nightmare.” I shivered as my skin chilled beneath the beads of sweat.
Nate reached over his shoulder and pulled the blanket from the back of the couch over me, then wrapped one arm around me. His other hand stroked up and down my arm in a soothing, repetitive motion. “Would a hot bath help?”
“No water.” I shook my head and barely kept myself from arching my face into his neck. It should have been illegal to smell that good, all fresh soap and spearmint.
“The plane,” he guessed, resting his chin on the top of my head.
“The plane.”
Minutes passed in silence as my heart rate slowed to match his. That was one of the things I loved about being around Nate. We didn’t have to fill every empty second with chatter.
“Do you ever get them?” I asked, knowing I should move off his lap, out of his arms, and yet unable to make myself.
“Not really anymore.” He continued the slow, steady strokes up and down my arm.