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She nodded, shifting closer so she could hear better. He steeled himself for the emotions he knew would come crashing down, railroading him again. Maybe if he turned on the lamp, it would be easier but then he decided against it. Secrets were easier to tell in the dark.
“I had a contact there,” he said, his voice low. “A woman. Her name was Amrain. She was a nurse at one of the clinics. I mether when I took a member of my team there for treatment. When I realized she had ties to the Taliban, I decided to befriend her.”
He glanced away, so she wouldn’t see the pain.
“Go on...” she whispered, reaching out and taking his hand. Her touch was cool, soft. It helped.
He cleared his throat. “I asked her to spy on someone for me. A suspected Taliban leader. She agreed, and I promised to protect her.” He paused, struggling to find the words.
“What happened?”
“They got to her,” he said, bitterly. “Threatened her family if she didn’t betray me. So she led me into a trap. Said she had information on the whereabouts of the men we were after. I believed her and we arranged a raid. We were going to go in and take them out.”
His voice hardened. “We walked straight into a fucking ambush. They were waiting for us. Opened fire as we walked into the place.”
She gasped.
“My team was annihilated. Didn’t stand a chance. They left us for dead.”
Her hand around his tightened.
“I’m so sorry,” she whispered.
He felt the anger, the bitterness, and the guilt wash over him, and belatedly realized he was gripping her hand so tight his own was going numb. “By rights, I should have died with them that day.” He should have bled out on the concrete warehouse floor with his team. His brothers.
Struggling for control, he loosened his grip.
“How did you survive?” Her voice trembled.
For him. She was worried for him.
It was a foreign feeling, and one he wasn’t comfortable with. Nobody had cared about him like that in a long time.
“I’d been shot but I was conscious—just. A passer-by heard the gunfire and called the police. They sent for the paramedics, and I was taken to hospital. From there I was airlifted to the nearest naval base.”
“Thank God they got to you in time. Were you badly injured?”
“I got shot in the shoulder. The impact spun me around, and I took another bullet in the back before I collapsed.”
A punctured lung. Two major operations. Months of rehab.
Her eyes widened. “It’s a miracle you survived.”
He nodded. Miracle. Mercy. Or just damned bad luck. The jury was still out.
“What happened to the woman?” she whispered. “Amrain?”
His voice was flat. “She was already dead. They executed her once she’d made the phone call.”
She didn’t say anything—didn’t have to. He felt her sympathy. Her concern. She moved forward, embracing him. He stiffened as her arms went around his neck, and almost pulled back, but something made him stay there. She didn’t move, didn’t speak, just held him, like he’d held her, until the waves of pain eased.
Without meaning to, he drew comfort from her body. He’d been holding it in for so long—the anguish, the guilt. It was exhausting. Wordlessly, he rested his head against hers.
They stayed that way for a long time, until the air around them shifted. Suddenly, he was acutely aware of the softness of her curves, and the gentleness with which she held him. Her fingers had somehow snaked into his hair, and she was arching in toward him, pressing herself close.
He sucked in a breath and straightened up. Her warmth, her scent lingered.
“That’s why I’m here,” he said, moving away. “That’s why they posted me to the embassy. I’m not fit for active duty.”