One Rough Man - Brad Taylor [147]
She didn’t answer the question. Didn’t appear to even hear it. “You know what I was thinking about at the end of that hall? I mean besides the scared shitless feeling that I was going to die? I thought that if Carlos killed me it would destroy you.”
“Come on. That’s not going to happen. You’re not going to die and I’m not going to self-destruct.”
She ignored me. “I felt so selfish. I had run into the hotel because we needed to get the information and it was my life. But it’s more than my life.”
“Jennifer, it’s never just your life. There’s always someone else who’ll be hurt. That’s just the way it is.”
She was staring at me now, making me uncomfortable. The twinge had come back with strength unlike anything I had felt since I had lost Heather. It was almost unbearable, a confusing mishmash of emotions that made me want to flee the room. Stop it. Remember the mission. Focus.
She continued. “I understand that my death would affect others. I mean, my death would also crush my mother, but I didn’t think about her. This was different. The fear of dying wasn’t as bad as the fear of causing you pain.”
Where is this going? I had intended to give her a little support, a shot of confidence, like I had done many times to other soldiers in the past, but I was no longer on familiar ground. “Well, I’m glad I’m good for something. If pity gets the mission done, then I guess I’m a pathetic loser who’ll fall apart at the drop of a hat. Can we talk about something else?”
“That’s not what I meant. I ... I don’t know what’s going to happen tomorrow and I just wanted you to know....”
“What?”
She leaned in and kissed me.
“You’re a good man. Much better than you give yourself credit for. Maybe better than anyone I’ve ever met. You didn’t kill your family. You should let it go.”
I sat still, frozen by her actions.
Jennifer laughed. “Wow. I finally made you speechless. I should have done that days ago.”
“Jennifer ... I ... uh ...”
She put a finger to my lips. “Shhh. I’m not looking for any deep thoughts. I just wanted to say that ... in case ... you know.”
In case one of us dies.
I remained silent for a second, not wanting to dwell on tomorrow’s potential consequences.
“You asked about Heather,” I said. “She was ... a lot like you.”
The words seemed to bring a sense of calm to her. She put her hand over mine.
“Thank you. I think that’s the best compliment you could ever give.”
“You’re welcome. Now, enough of the soul-searching.” I stood up, locking my churning emotions away and trying to concentrate on the mission. “We need to get some sleep. We have a big day tomorrow.”
She remained seated, saying nothing, but with a different glint in her eyes.
“What?”
“I ... I’d rather you didn’t sleep on the floor tonight. Is that all right?”
The question took a moment to sink in. When it did, it separated my confusing emotions like oil and water. Jesus, you want to. The thought made me feel like a traitor, disgusting me to my core. I can’t sleep around on Heather. The notion was ridiculous, but overwhelmingly there nonetheless. Shit. What do I say now?
Jennifer had just been through a harrowing event, and had now opened herself up in the most vulnerable way possible. The close call itself may have been to blame. I didn’t want to hurt her. I sat down again, taking her hand.
“Jennifer ... I ... I ... can’t do that....”
She blinked and looked at the floor. When she looked back at me, she was smiling, like I had confirmed something.
“I know. I just meant you could use a good night’s sleep. Off of the floor. The bed’s big enough.”
We both knew what she really meant, but somehow my answer had avoided giving her pain. I smiled back, relieved. No matter what happened tomorrow, tonight I had done something right.
88
At seven A.M. Bakr got out of bed and completed sunrise prayers, wishing for the thousandth time that he were allowed the small dignity of a prayer rug as part of his cover.
At seven-thirty, he walked to the end of the hall for his shower. He fidgeted in his room for another forty-five minutes, playing with