Harun was right about one thing. Now that John was firmly inside her heart, there was no getting him out. There was no point in even trying.
Not that she had any idea what she was going to do about that.
"I, too, have a confession."
Chaudhry had a confession? For her?
But, again, the man nodded. "It is the reason I told my wife that I would come here to tell you the news about the major. Our prime minister, he was given access to something that perhaps a man of his leanings should not have been given."
Oh, Lord. "My background investigation."
"Yes. He shared the contents with me while he was attempting to sway my opinion on…other matters. This was not right and, yet, perhaps Allah intended it. For having been privy to knowledge of your past that I should not have, I am able to come here to assure you that it does not matter. You are not the sins of your father. Some of my people might disagree, but I do not. His disgrace is not yours. You need not bow your head in shame. For through your relentless quest for the truth, no matter where it lies, you have restored your family's honor. Any man would be proud to call you daughter. I would be proud. I, as well as my wife, am also in your debt—as well as our country. Major Garrison's, too. Remember that. And now, my wife awaits. I must take her home, finally, so that she may begin to grieve."
"Sir?" She ignored his silent, frowning reminder to use his name. "If you've been briefed on my background, I'm sure you know the rest."
"Your mother?"
"Yes. I just wanted to tell you and your wife—that is, please hold fast to something as you both mourn your daughter. The pain? I can't lie; it doesn't ever really go away. Especially when you've seen that horror with your own eyes. But…it does lessen. Eventually. And you both will find joy again, I promise. Especially since you have each other, and Allah, to lean on."
He nodded once at that, and left.
She retrieved her phone as the door closed and quickly texted Tulle the outstanding news. She made yet another call to Palisade to update him on John’s condition as well, then returned her phone to her pocket to resume the wait.
Less than five minutes later, John arrived as promised.
Unfortunately, he was fast asleep.
Two young men removed the empty bed from the room first, then rolled John's slightly wider one into the room, slotting it, and his IV stand and monitors, into place. Regan waited while a nurse adjusted the IV and those monitors on John's right then offered a soft invitation in English to press the call button if she needed anything.
And then the nurse, too, nodded politely and left.
Unable to return to the couch, she moved up the left side of John's body, near his head. She traced her fingers over his warm brow. She might as well have used her right, because her entire left hand was still trembling too, albeit with relief.
When her light touch failed to rouse him, she moved on to the growth on his jaw, savoring the texture. She didn't know if it was the lingering effects of the anesthesia or the more normal exhaustion his mind and body had suffered, given that neither of them had slept the previous night, but that soft touch failed to rouse John too.
Unwilling to head over to the couch to curl up alone, she slipped off her shoes and tucked them beneath the bed. Her dupatta went onto the small plastic set of drawers beside the headboard. Her 9mm and credentials, she slipped beneath John's pillow.
Only then, with her phone still in her back pocket, did she quietly slip herself up into the bed beside him. She lay on her right side, taking up as little room as possible at the very edge of the mattress. Satisfied she wouldn't injure him, she stretched up to kiss the side of his cheek, then moved on to his ear to whisper the one thing John had asked of her while they'd been in that bed together at the Serena. The one thing he needed. Her assurance that she could get past what he'd flung at her all those months ago in that parking lot; that she already had.
"I don't hate you."
With that, she laid her head down onto the pillow beside his. He was last thing she saw as the exhaustion took over and the numbing darkness slipped in.
John woke before her—and with that smile and that colossal ego of his firmly intact. She knew, because she could feel it swelling, even as she pushed through the layers of sleep that were clinging to her brain.
Regan opened her eyes anyway.
That deep, dimpled fold greeted her. "If I'd known what it took to keep you by my side while I slept, I'd have arranged to take that bullet sixteen months ago."
Her hand came up, instinctively covering his mouth. "Don't. Don't ever tease about something like that." Not after today.
His left arm, the one that had somehow made its way beneath her while she'd been sleeping, pulled her closer until she was lying atop the uninjured portion of his groin and his hospital-gown-clad chest. "All right. I promise."
While he was at it, she wondered if she could get him to ensure that he'd never get shot or seriously injured again. Because her nerves just couldn't take it.
Though, oddly, speaking of her nerves, the ones in her right hand and arm had quieted down significantly.
Because of her nap? Or because John had been holding her?
Though she suspected the credit lay
