Page 165 of Secrets Beneath the Waves

“Where am I?” I ask.

“You’re aturgences. You were shot.”

Snippets of what happened begin to surface. Our driver insisting on taking me to the hospital. Polina holding my hand as we swerved through traffic, telling me to hang on.

“How long have I been here?”

“You’ve been asleep for a couple hours. They want to keep you under observation. Looks like no surgery or long-term complications, thankfully, but you did get stitches. We’re just waiting on the doctor to release you.”

“What about Polina?” I ask.

“She’s at a safe house. Decisions will be made on what to do, but for the moment, she’s safe.”

I bite the tip of my tongue, suddenly terrified about the answer to my next question. “And William?”

Lizzie turns away, clearly wanting to avoid my question.

“Lizzie. . .what happened to him?”

“Polina was able to fill in some of the details, but all we have is some grainy video footage. He managed to stop the men from following you by starting a fight that got rough. Witnesses say he was pushed off the bridge and into the river.”

I feel my body freeze. “What do you mean he was pushed into the river? You found him, didn’t you?”

“I’m so sorry, Samantha. As of right now they are still searching, but no. . .he hasn’t been found.”

I’m not sure how to process the news. My brain is still foggy and my side hurts, making it hard to focus.

“This is all my fault.” Pain shoots through me as I start to get up. “I should never have left him to handle things on his own.”

“Stop.” Lizzie places her hands on my shoulder. “You’re in no condition to get up. And this wasn’t your fault. You made theright decision to protect an asset. He would have wanted for you to do exactly what you did. We will find him.”

I shake my head. “And if we don’t?”

“Don’t even go there.”

But Lizzie’s wrong. This was my fault. What if they don’t find him? How will I be able to live with the fact that I left William behind?

CHAPTER

TWO

Six weeks later

I’ve yetto tell anyone of the nightmares. Of the constant feeling I’m being followed, or the shadows trying to trick me into believing they’re the enemy. I know it’s all in my head, but that does little to erase the newly seeded fear. I brace my hands on the bathroom sink and stare into the mirror at my pale complexion. I’ve gone to all the required therapy sessions and passed all the mental evaluations in order to be back at work full-time. I’ve been reminded how anxiety and panic, when used correctly, can be an asset. I just have to find a way to leverage that fear to my advantage. To use it to help sharpen my focus and push me beyond my comfort zone, which will in turn make me a better officer.

But in the middle of the night, when I’m alone and fighting the panic, all I can see is the burned imprint on my mind of the last time I saw William.

A part of me has considered walking away from my post. To somehow find somethingnormalto do with my skill set. But every time the thought crosses my mind, I know I will never do that. Not yet anyway. For now, I simply can’t let anyone knowhow much getting shot and losing William has affected me. I have to keep reminding myself that Polina got away safely that day, and that the information we received from her had been vital. The bottom line is that she’s not my only asset, and I’m in way too deep to simply walk away.

So instead of running, I spend ten-plus hours a day sitting in a small office going through intel and focusing on the distraction of writing up reports, prepping for meetings, and translating documents. I remind myself that my work is important—I’m a small piece of a larger puzzle.

What no one knew—and still doesn’t know—is that the evening before the ambush on Pont Neuf, William asked me to marry him, and I said yes. We knew of other couples working for the CIA who had been able to be posted together, so this next step in our relationship seemed like the perfect solution. It was a chance to serve our country together as a team.

Until a simple meet with an asset had gone south and everything changed.

Six weeks have passed with no sign of William. Witnesses have confirmed that four men came after us, there was a fight, and that one of them pushed him off the bridge. While it seems impossible, no body has been found, any follow-up leads have run cold, and the identities of the men are still unknown.

I glance away from the mirror and pull up the bottom of my shirt to see where the bullet skimmed my side. It might be almost completely healed, but the scar it left will always be a reminder of what happened that day. Of what I lost personally, and of the guilt I haven’t been able to shake over leaving William to deal with four armed men alone. I’ve been assured over and over that I did the right thing. That my decision to protect Polina was the right one. But at what cost? Was sacrificing the man I loved really worth it?