“You get settled. I’ll be right back.”
“Thanks.”
When Derek returned, bedding in his arms, he found her sound asleep on the bare mattress, lashes dark against her cheeks, auburn hair fanned against the pillow, her headscarf clutched in one hand. He set the sheets and pillowcases on the nearby chest of drawers and covered her with the blanket. For a time, he stood there like an idiot, watching her sleep, an unfamiliar tenderness seeping in behind his sternum.
You’re out of your mind, buddy.
Before he could do anything stupid, he left her room.
11
When Jenna woke the next morning, she had no idea where she was or what she was doing sleeping in her clothes on an unmade bed. Someone had put a blanket over her.
Derek.
Her heart plummeted as memories from yesterday crashed in on her. The terrifying flight from the village to Mazar-e-Sharif. The stupid things she’d said to Derek. The drone footage his men had shown her.
It’s my expert opinion that you shouldn’t return to the hospital until we know for certain whether Qassim and his men were after you.
Was this all fallout from her trying to save Behar’s life?
She sat up, glanced first at her watch, and then around at the guest suite. Compared to her dorm room at the hospital it was luxurious—big, bright, and warm. There were windows set high on the walls so that no one could see inside or out, their glass thick and probably bulletproof. The queen-sized bed sat next to a nightstand. There was a chest of drawers, a desk, and a plush leather sofa. White concrete walls held framed photos of iconic events in U.S. history—President Lincoln at Gettysburg, General Pershing arriving in France in 1917, Marines raising the flag on Iwo Jima, firefighters climbing through the wreckage of the Twin Towers after 9/11.
She got out of bed and walked into the next room to find a white-tiled bathroom with a shower and a vanity. In the drawers, she found toiletries—small tubes of toothpaste, dental floss, disposable razors, men’s shaving cream, shampoo, conditioner, body wash.
A shower.
She hadn’t taken a shower since the morning before all of this started, the morning before she and Derek had kissed in the generator shed.
You did a lot more than kiss.
She didn’t want to think about that now.
She found towels and washcloths in a cupboard under the sink and stripped out of her clothes, setting James’ dog tags carefully on the counter. She put a razor, washcloth, and some toiletries on a shelf in the shower and turned on the water, delighted to feel it was hot. Then she stepped under the spray—and sighed with pleasure.
For a little while, she forgot she was far from the hospital at a paramilitary compound and that some jerk might be hunting for her.
When she dried off, she felt clean and much more like herself.
She hadn’t brought a change of clothes, but the security guy who’d given her the keycard to her room had said there was a laundry room. Maybe she could borrow a T-shirt and jeans from someone until she was able to wash her things.
She wrapped herself in a towel, gathered her dirty clothes in her arms, and stepped out of the bathroom just as someone knocked. She tossed her clothes onto the bed and walked to the door. “Who is it?”
“It’s Derek. I brought you some breakfast.”
Jenna glanced at the pile of dirty clothes. She couldn’t stand the idea of wearing them again. She opened the door and stepped back, holding tightly onto the towel.
Derek stood there dressed in a tan T-shirt and desert camo and carrying a tray that held orange juice, scrambled eggs, bacon, toast and…
She inhaled. “Oh, my God, is that real coffee?”
His gaze slid over her, as intimate as a caress. “You bet.”
She hadn’t had coffee since she’d left the U.S.
He carried the tray to the desk and set it down. “Did you get some sleep?”
“Yes. Thank you. You?”