VANGUARD(73)

He hated crying. His mother cried, of course. Women cried; that was acceptable. His father cried occasionally, too. He remembered tears running down Maxwell’s face as he ran to greet Signe and Michael when they’d cleared immigration at JFK the day they had finally come to New York. But his father was American, and American men behaved differently. Michael had never seen an Orlisian man cry, and his mother had always impressed upon him how important it was to behave like an Orlisian man from the time he was very small.

He’d not been in his room more than ten minutes, sitting on the edge of the bed and staring at the floor, when a knock came at the door.

“Mind if I come in?” He looked up in surprise to see Will Temple leaning on the doorframe. Michael waved him in. “Rough day, huh? I suppose my wife gave you that busted nose. Sorry about that.”

“It is not broken, only bruised,” he said defensively. “So many women in your country have fighting skills, I am discovering.”

“Only the good ones.” Michael couldn’t help but smile at that. “There, I knew I could make you smile. You’re such a sullen bastard. You should smile more often.”

He felt he should be angry at such a statement, but Will was impossible to dislike. “Perhaps,” Michael conceded. Then he remembered something. “I borrowed some of your clothing today. I have placed them over there.” He gestured to the chair where Will’s clothes were neatly stacked.

Will frowned. “Yeah, I noticed. Listen, you can borrow just about anything you want, but never touch my cowboy boots again. Those things are sacred to me.”

“I apologize and will not wear them again. In fact, I found them quite uncomfortable.”

Will grinned, then produced a pack of playing cards from his vest pocket. “Want to play cards?”

Michael stared at the deck blankly, wondering why Will was offering to do this.

“Look, I’ve been hearing about you for years. Just spent the last several months of my life helping Sophie look for you. I feel like I already know you better than I should. We may as well start catching up.”

Michael sat back, surprised at Will’s openness. Over the years, he had occasionally – perhaps more than occasionally – felt jealous when Sophie talked about her boss in worshipful tones. He understood now why Sophie was so drawn to Will; the man was simply decent.

Solitary and mistrusting by nature, Michael’s first instinct was to send this man away. But Will was a big part of Sophie’s life, and if Michael was ever to take his rightful place in her world, this was where it began.

“I would like that.” He pulled the bedside table over between them. “But I do not know very many card games.”

“I’ll teach you.”





-





February 22, 2014





Sophie awoke to a silent compound. Considering she’d spent the best part of the previous day unconscious, she’d expected to sleep poorly through the night. Instead, she’d slept well and woken shockingly late at 11 a.m. Then again, she probably hadn’t had a decent night’s sleep in six months.

Kathy, the nurse who had helped look after Michael when he was first brought in, brought her some food and took out Sophie’s IV. Sophie took a careful walk around the infirmary with the nurse’s assistance, the first time in nearly twenty-four hours she’d been on her feet.

This took her to 12:30. Another hour and a half in her private prison. Sophie dutifully peed into a cup for Kathy, allowed the nurse to check her vitals, and took her required meds. Paced around the room a bit more. 12:45. She turned on her laptop and plowed through a backlog of emails. Made a to-do list. Checked flights back to New York for availability. 1:15.

She could feel Michael’s presence at the other end of the building as clearly as she could feel the laptop under her fingers. It tugged at her, like they were attached by an invisible string. She needed to be with him, needed him. Difficult, angry, messed-up man that he was.

In the corner, she found her overnight bag from their ill-fated trip to Kaliningrad. She dug through it, looking for her shower things and a toothbrush. She turned to Kathy, who didn’t even look up from her paperwork.

“Not until 2 p.m., Sophie. Dr. Shah made me promise.”

Sophie sulked on the bed until 1:45, then started pacing again. She was driving Kathy and Sergei, who was at the door, crazy. Tough shit.

At 2 p.m., she cleared her throat. Kathy gave Sergei the thumbs up. He smiled and let her fly out of the room down the hall. She took a long shower, not caring if she used every drop of hot water on the compound. Shaved, plucked, and spruced up as best she could. With a deep breath, she pulled on the white lingerie Anjali had given her earlier in the week. She gasped as the silky fabric slid over her skin. The garment fit a little loosely on her after all the weight she’d lost from the dysentery, but it still looked nice.