At length, his breathing steadies.
“Since this worked out, I think I’ll go stay with the guys at the cabin for a while.” His voice is still husky.
In the depths of my body, two things happen: a chill prickles at the base of my spine and the warm ember kindles between my lungs. “Good. You’ve earned a real vacation since I ruined it in every way.”
“You’ve ruined nothing.”
“How long will you stay?”
“Not long.”
“When are you leaving?”
He inhales behind my ear and kisses my throat. “A few more hours.”
I lock my arms and legs tightly around him. I’ll miss him like air but he needs this.
*
“Be safe,” Aiden says as Benson stows his suitcase—a reassuringly small weekender—in a navy-and-white Bell 430 helicopter with HALE HOLDINGS printed across its fuselage.
I force a smile but the chills are returning. “I miss you already,” I say, walking into his arms. They wrap around me tightly.
“Don’t worry,” he murmurs in my hair. “You’ll get over it in a couple of hours.”
“Not funny.”
For an instant, his eyes shift. It’s too fast before they still again, gleaming with a new focus. More intent—the way one might gaze to decipher something on the horizon.
“Benson will be around,” he says. “If you need something, tell him. Promise?”
“Promise.” I melt to his chest.
To my surprise, he tilts my face up and kisses me hard. This kiss is hungry like the one this morning. And it sweeps me off my feet like our first one. I fist my fingers in his hair but he releases me too soon.
“I love you,” he says with unblinking eyes.
“I love you too.”
He kisses my forehead and tears himself from my grip. With an odd, stern look at Benson, he climbs agilely inside the Bell 430.
“Semper fidelis, Aiden,” I call as Benson closes the door and signs to the pilot—a Jean-Luc Picard look-alike—some aviation gesture.
As the Bell lifts Aiden to the heavens, a warm gust of air floats from my mouth as though chasing after him. Biologically, I know it’s just a breath but the instant it leaves me, I feel empty. Adrift. So maybe it’s not just breath. Maybe it’s the soul.
Chapter Fifty-One
The Free and The Brave
They say it takes the soul time to catch up with the body. It lags behind motions, schedules, intents, means. Mine is still chasing after Aiden as I burst through the door of my apartment to pick up my passport for Bob.
Reagan comes running down the hall in her LONDON CALLING T-shirt.
“Isa, what the hell are you doing here?”
I launch myself at her. “Oh, Reg, I tried calling you. Bob’s finished! We’re clear!”
It takes a moment to sink in. Then she squeals in a way that is dangerous for eardrums and pulls me into a tight hug. We start jumping on the spot, breaking into a dance, until we run out of breath and simply hold each other.
Eventually, we skip arm in arm to my room so that I can pick up my passport and go back to Benson, who is waiting outside, looking rather tense.
“What about Javier? Can you sign after you see him?”
“I tried calling him, too, but he didn’t pick up. I’ll go there right after.” I start wondering whether I should tell her about the whole Feign mess but she yanks my elbow.
“What did you say?” Her voice is low, as though she heard blasphemy.
“I tried calling him. He’s probably working. What, Reagan?”
Reagan’s face drains of color.
“You don’t know.” Her whisper trembles and her hands start shaking.
“Know what?” But suddenly, I don’t want to hear her answer. My spine shivers and I want to cover my ears. She takes my hand.
“Isa.” She swallows hard. “They caught him.”
My body dissolves at her words. No ears left to puncture or heart to implode. Only my mind as it delivers a blow.
Are you Elisa Snow? Daughter of Peter and Clare Snow?… There’s been an accident…an accident…an accident…
“Isa!” Reagan’s arms break my fall. “Sweetie, how did you not know?”
Miss Snow?… No, catch her…her head… Miss Snow? Look at me… In the ambulance. Now… She’s bleeding.
“Isa? No! Look at me. Not that look. It’s not the same. Isa, listen to me.” Someone is shaking me. I try to see past the ambulance lights and the January night but the sirens blast a crack in reality. The shaking gets worse. Something sharp strikes across my cheek. The biting sting brings Reagan into focus, as I realize she just slapped me.
“Reagan!” I grip her soft hands.
“I know, sweetie. He was caught early Friday morning. Maria and I tried calling you at Aiden’s. He said you knew about it. How is that possible?”