The Devil and the Deep Blue Sea (The Devils #2)(76)
“No one recognized me and it was fine,” I reply in a small voice, pulling out my phone. “But don’t worry, I’ll get out of your hair. You were clearly busy.” By which I really mean You clearly didn’t want to be associated with me, but I’m not about to sit here and beg for empty reassurances from him. We weren’t what I thought we were. I hoped for too much and made more of this than it was, and I should have known better. That’s all there is to it.
“Stop,” he says. For one agonizing second I let myself hope he’s going to tell me it’s okay I’m here, though I have no clue what he could say at this point to salvage the situation. “I don’t trust those guys who brought you,” he says instead. “Let me make a call.”
I perch on the edge of his cot while he holds a terse conversation with someone about “the primary”. He mentions Istanbul, then curses. “Djibouti, then,” he says.
It’s taken me ten hours and thousands of dollars to get here—for this. To have him kick me out without so much as a hug and a It was so nice of you to come. I’ve never felt more foolish, and I’m suddenly so exhausted even sitting up is an effort. I want to curl into a ball and sleep until this whole thing is over with. And it means we are over. That’s what hurts the most. There is no coming back from this, not that it appears he’d want us to.
He hangs up finally and leans forward, elbows to his knees, hands briefly over his face. He looks at me at last.
“What was all that about?” I ask.
His teeth dig into his lip as he hesitates. “I know some guys here. I can’t tell you who they’re with and you can’t ask, but they’ll get you to the airport in Mogadishu tomorrow before daybreak. They’ll wait with you there until you’ve boarded your plane. You’ll fly to Ethiopia, and leave for the US from there.”
The tension in his words makes me pause. Is he simply worried, or can he not wait to get rid of me? I don’t know. I only know it hurts. That I feel small and stupid and utterly unwanted. I shouldn’t have come. I shouldn’t ever have continued this pointless, futile thing with him after Paris.
“Have you eaten?” he asks.
I blink in surprise and then shake my head. I haven’t eaten and I haven’t slept because all that mattered was him. How excessively one-sided it all was. I’m so stupid.
“I’ll get you something,” he says. “You’ll need to wait here. I can’t risk having someone recognize you if they haven’t already.”
He looks at me for a moment and his mouth opens, then closes. Whatever he was going to say, he thinks better of it and walks out instead, zipping the tent up behind him.
His eagerness to get away from me hurts, but doesn’t surprise me at this point. I’ve invaded his space and now I’m a problem he has to deal with. I’ve turned into Sloane—the unwanted interloper, inconveniently messing up his plans. I wonder if he’d decide to sleep on the couch, if there was a couch.
How did I ever convince myself I was someone he’d want for longer than a few non-consecutive nights? He’s a doctor who testifies before Congress, while I’m a living, breathing disaster who never even finished high school. Anyone looking at this situation would have known I wasn’t good enough for him, was never going to be what he wanted.
I lie down on the cot. The pillow smells like him and I feel strangled by grief. A tear rolls down my face and I quickly brush it away. I wanted this to be different and I wanted him to be different and I can’t entirely shake off who I thought he was, even now that he’s shown me otherwise.
When I hear the tent unzipping, I sit up and try to pull myself together, drying my eyes on my sleeve. I will survive this situation, but I’m not sure I could survive his pity on top of it.
He steps inside, frowning at the sight of me. It’s as if not a minute has passed since the day I landed in Honolulu. I’m back to being the girl he doesn’t want on the trip.
He hands me a tray. “There wasn’t much to choose from,” he says with a sigh. “The kitchen’s already closed for the night.”
“Thank you,” I tell him stiffly. I pick at some rice but I can’t stomach anything else. “I’m mostly tired.” He crosses the room and takes the tray from me. For a moment, we both hold it. It’s the closest we’ve been since I arrived.
“Lie down,” he says, returning to his seat at the desk.
“This cot isn’t big enough for two people,” I say quietly. “I can sleep on the floor.”
“Of course you’re not sleeping on the floor,” he says. “I’m going to stay up until the transport gets here, anyway.”
He’s really not even going to touch me. He can barely stand to look at me.
I lie down, facing away from him so he doesn’t have a clue when the tears start rolling down my face.
43
JOSH
She sleeps and I wait. I could probably lie down, but I’m too fucking scared. I know I’d be tempted to do more than lie there, and I’m not willing to let down my guard for even a moment. God only knows who recognized her at the airport or on the way here. At any given moment I expect to see the tent being ripped down the center.
This is all my fault. I didn’t want her to know how bad things were, but…they’re bad. We have informants all over the camp. Already, I’m certain, someone has left to tell the local terrorists we have a visitor. Even if they didn’t recognize her, they’ll know she’s pretty and young and American, that she looks like she has money. And one of those things would be enough. All of them together—I have to stop thinking about it.