anyway.”
He shook his head. “Forget the arm. Listen, you don’t have to-”
“Ryan, I’m okay, I swear.” But her smile was starting to slip. “I saw you walking outside,” she said quickly, desperately. “Is it really cold? I heard on the news it’s supposed to snow all night.”
“Don’t do this,” he said softly, shaking his head. “Please don’t do this. Talk to me.”
“I am talking. I just…”
She tried to hold on, but it couldn’t last, and she had pushed it down for too long already. Even from across the room, he could see her lower lip was starting to tremble, one hand tightly gripping the other. Then the facade gave way completely. She started to cry softly, and he closed the space between them quickly, putting his arms around her, pulling her close. Before long she was sobbing hard, hiccupping when she ran out of air, her hot tears dripping onto his sweater, soaking through to his skin. He felt a lump in his throat rising, but he pushed down his own emotions. He knew he had to be strong for her. He had already failed her twice: once with Crane and again with Vanderveen. He hated himself for it, but there was nothing he could do about that now. He only knew one thing for sure: that he would do whatever he could to make it up to her.
After about ten minutes, she pulled away and sat on the bed, her shoulders slumping. He joined her and took hold of her left hand, just waiting, letting her get control. When she finally spoke, her voice was exhausted and barely audible.
“I haven’t slept in days,” she mumbled. The emotional outburst had left her utterly drained. “He’s there every time I close my eyes. And if it’s not him, it’s Crane. In some ways, she’s worse. She doesn’t say anything, but she doesn’t have to. I know how much she hates me, Ryan. I took away everything she had, her whole life, and now I just-”
“Stop,” he said quietly. “Don’t do this to yourself.” He pulled her close as the tears started up again, rubbing her back gently with his good arm. He knew she needed to get it out, but it was hard to listen to her talk as if these people were still alive in some kind of abstract reality, just waiting for her to fall asleep so they could continue tormenting her. He couldn’t help but wonder if she would ever really recover from what had happened. The thought that she might have to live this way forever filled him with a sense of numbing despair, but at the same time, he knew he would never give up on her. He would do everything in his power to help her through it.
But only if she wanted him to. Once again, he wondered how much she blamed him for what had happened, and while it felt selfish to ask, he had to know. If being there caused her more pain than she was already feeling, he didn’t want to stay.
She shook her head when he posed the question, but refused to meet his eyes. “I think I hated you for a little while,” she admitted softly. “But not anymore, and I didn’t really mean it to begin with. I know you would have stopped it if you could have.”
“I should never have left you in the building,” he said bitterly. “If I’d just-”
“Don’t say that,” she said. “It just worked out badly. You didn’t make me leave the field office with Foster, and you couldn’t have known that Vanderveen was waiting outside the warehouse. It wasn’t your fault.”
He nodded, not really believing her. He tried to shrug off his feelings, knowing it wasn’t the time for self-pity. This wasn’t about him, after all, and there was something important he needed to ask her. He hesitated, unsure if this was the right time, but it couldn’t wait.
“Naomi, they’re going to be releasing you in a week or so. I want you to come back to Maine with me. To Cape Elizabeth.”
She didn’t look up, but he felt her body tense. “Isn’t that where…?”
“Yes.” Katie Donovan had died in the house on Cape Elizabeth nearly a year earlier. He hadn’t been back since.
“Can you go there?”
She didn’t expand on this, but he knew exactly what she was asking.
“I couldn’t before,” he said. “But I can now, I think. As long as you’re by my side.”
She looked up, and he went on. “Naomi, I want to take care of you. I want to help you through this, and I want to see you strong again.” He hesitated, then said what he really meant. “But mostly, I just want you. For as long as you’ll have me.”
What happened next surprised him, though it probably shouldn’t have. She pulled away, got to her feet, and walked back to the window. He stood up, confused.
“You don’t mean that,” she said, bitter regret creeping into her voice. “You can’t possibly mean that. Not anymore, so don’t pretend otherwise.”
“What are you talking about?”
She spun around angrily, her eyes filling with tears. “You know exactly what I’m talking about.”
He suddenly understood what she meant, but it left him in a difficult position, as he couldn’t address it directly. There was almost nothing he could say that wouldn’t hurt her feelings in one way or another. After thinking for a moment, he walked over and took her hand. She didn’t try to pull away, but she wouldn’t face him, either. “Naomi, look at me.”
When she finally lifted her gaze, he didn’t speak. Instead, he simply leaned down and kissed her. When he pulled away a minute later, a small smile appeared on her face. It was tiny and fleeting, but it was all he needed to see: a real smile, completely impulsive, not forced in the least. The reason for the kiss was simple and twofold: first, he had wanted it for weeks, and second, he felt the need to remind her of how beautiful she was. In truth, though, his feelings for her ran far deeper than she could have known, certainly much deeper than physical attraction. She was an incredible woman, and he’d take her any way he could get her. It was that simple.
“Are you sure about this?” she asked in a small voice. “I don’t want you to feel that you have to do it out of guilt or because you feel sorry for me.”
“Don’t say that. You know it’s not true.” Very carefully, he touched the bandage on her face, selecting a spot that he knew wouldn’t hurt her. “This will heal, Naomi. It’s just skin-deep.” He moved his hand down and lightly placed it over her heart. “I’m more worried about the wounds in here, but they will heal as well. You’ll see. It just takes time.”
The tears started again, and he pulled her close, stroking the back of her hair, murmuring all the right words, or at least trying to. He held her until she had cried herself out. Then he eased her over to the bed, sat next to her, and held her hand until her breathing assumed the soft rhythm of sleep. By the time Everett knocked on the door, Naomi was gone to the world. For now, at least, it seemed the dreams had released her from their terrible grasp. Kealey wished he could take comfort from her peaceful repose, but couldn’t bring himself to do it. He knew all too well that the dreams would eventually creep back.
In the end, they always did.
CHAPTER 59
AL ANBAR PROVINCE, IRAQ
The Palestine Hotel, a squat, square building devoid of both character and charm, sits on the eastern edge of the town of al-Qaim, 200 miles northwest of Baghdad, less than 2 miles east of the border with Syria. In April of 2005, the town was the scene of intense fighting between Sunni insurgents and the 3rd Armored Cavalry Regiment, along with four other towns on the Syrian border. Al-Qaim, however, stood out in that particular group, as it was thought to be the temporary headquarters of Abu Musab al-Zarqawi. Ultimately, al-Zarqawi eluded capture, only to be killed little more than a year later in a safe house north of Baqubah, but the U.S. forces remained and established Camp al-Qaim on the city outskirts. The camp was now home to the 3rd Battalion of the 6th Marine Regiment, but while the gate was less than a mile from the Palestine Hotel, Ryan Kealey had no intention of visiting. He had everything he needed where he was, and in any event, he didn’t plan on staying long.
He was sitting in a small courtyard to the rear of the hotel, his green plastic chair resting on two legs against the stucco exterior wall, a paper cup of weak lemonade in his right hand. He tilted his head back to the sky, searching in vain for a breeze. The temperature was 90 degrees Fahrenheit, cold for November, but not after the snow he’d left behind in the Blue Ridge Mountains. Propped up against the wall next to him was a well-worn AK-47 with a single 30-round magazine. The courtyard was enclosed with yellow walls of stone and mortar and topped
