Singh slowly reached out her hand and gently placed it on Sam’s cheek. He closed his eyes, her words hitting him like a punch to the gut. The gash above his eyebrow had been taped shut. He placed his hand on top of hers and held it for a few seconds.
A moment of intimacy his life couldn’t accommodate.
‘I’m sorry.’
Sam gently pulled her hand away from his cheek and stepped around her, heading for the hallway. After the tribulations of Ashcroft, Sam needed a long, hot shower to wash away the blood and pain. Singh took a deep breath, recomposed, and then turned after him.
‘I can’t protect you anymore, Sam,’ she said with authority. ‘Both of you. You forged official documentation which had led to a number of deaths. I can give you both a day to get gone, but that’s as far as I can go. I’m sorry.’
She shrugged, indicating that she didn’t have any other option. Sam stopped on the bottom step and fixed her with a warm smile.
‘Thank you, Amara. For everything.’
With her heart breaking, she forced herself to return likewise.
‘You saved my life, Sam. Twice. It’s the least I can do.’
The two of them shared a few seconds of quiet, wondering what life would had been like had it taken a different path. Sam nodded, confirming to her that he felt the same way and with considerable effort, he heaved himself up the stairs towards the bathroom. Singh watched him go, each step he took away from her was like a hammer to her heart. Dabbing at her eyes, she lifted her jacket from the coat hook and headed to the front door.
‘Leaving so soon?’ Etheridge asked, appearing in the kitchen doorway.
‘I assume you heard all that?’
‘I did.’ Etheridge stepped into the hallway and approached the coat rack. ‘You said we had until tomorrow, right?’
‘I’m sorry, it’s the best I can do.’
‘That means this evening, we can forget about the horrible reality of the situation?’ Etheridge smiled at her, lifting his own jacket from the hook and putting hers back.
‘I don’t understand.’
‘If we only have one night left before we have to go, probably not worth wasting it, eh?’ Etheridge flashed a glance up the stairs, where the hum of the power shower echoed lightly. ‘I need to run an errand. Keep an eye on him.’
Etheridge winked and Singh felt her knees wobble. Etheridge opened the front door and stepped out into the rain, mumbling something about the best Chinese takeaway in the country. But Singh wasn’t listening.
After taking a few deep breaths, she began to climb the stairs.
* * *
As the water crashed down over his short, brown hair, Sam closed his eyes. Having been afforded a meek, three-minute shower in Ashcroft every other day, the high pressure water felt amazing against his skin. As the droplets collided with his shoulder, he felt a burning sensation coming from his fresh stitches, but Sam ignored the pain.
With his head down and hands pressed against the expensive, herringbone tiles that adorned the bathroom wall, Sam took a moment to clear his thoughts.
Despite his persistence to the fight, Sam had been afraid.
Locked away in a secret prison, there had been every chance the plan wouldn’t have worked. Not because of Etheridge, who had proven beyond any shadow of a doubt that he was as integral to Sam’s fight as he himself was, but because of the danger he’d willingly put himself in.
There was no way of knowing how sadistic Deputy Warden Sharp was and Sam knew that walking out of that prison, alive and with his mission completed, was against the odds.
But somehow he’d done it.
He had survived.
But Singh’s words hung heavy in his mind.
Could he step away from his life now?
Sam had always justified his fight as one of necessity, that his quest started with innocent people dying at the hands of a power hungry criminal and a corrupt police organisation. Since then, he’d taken down sex traffickers and gone to war with a global terrorism unit, helmed by a man who had ruined his life.
Turned him into a weapon.
A weapon that Sam himself had turned back on those that deserved it.
But now, with the chance to disappear and to start somewhere else, could he step away?
Before he could contemplate any further, he heard the bathroom door opening and then quickly closing. Sam stayed in position, allowing the water to pound against his broken body. Through the muffled downpour, he heard the slight noise of clothes falling on the floor and then the door to the vast shower cubicle opening.
Singh stepped in, her hand gently sliding up Sam’s spine, carefully navigating the scars he’d received in the fight to save her life. With considerable effort, Sam pushed himself from the tiles and turned, struck by the incredible beauty of her naked body.
No words were spoken.
They weren’t needed.
Singh stepped forward, rested her hand against his solid stomach, and brought herself to him, their lips locking as the water crashed around them.
Months of unspoken feelings and knowing nods, along with death defying moments exploded and in the shower cubicle, with their bodies wrapped around each other, Sam and Singh disappeared into each other, knowing they would never get the opportunity to again.
* * *
With the sun disappearing behind the London skyline, Mac had driven carefully back into the capital, ensuring the doors were locked. He had no intention of hurting Lucy and had tried his best to calm the woman, who had cried since the moment they’d departed her street.
Undoubtedly concerned for her newborn child, Mac had forced himself to focus on the mission.
This wasn’t about her, or the kindness she’d shown him in years gone by.
This was about Sam.
The man
