Keep Me (17 page)

He shrugs, his face smoothing out into his usual impassive mask, though a hint of amusement still lurks in his eyes. “Sure. People like us aren’t generally considered good husband material.”

An involuntary chuckle escapes my throat. “Well, I don’t know if, strictly speaking, Nora considers me ‘good husband material.’” A monster who abducted her and fucked with her head, sure. But a good husband? Somehow I doubt it.

“Well, if she doesn’t, then she should,” Lucas says, turning his attention back to the controls. “You don’t cheat, you take good care of her, and you’ve risked your life to save her before. If that’s not being a good husband, then I don’t know what is.” As he speaks, I see a small frown appearing on his face as he peers at something on the radar screen.

“What is it?” I ask sharply, all of my instincts suddenly on alert.

“I’m not sure,” Lucas begins saying, and at that moment, the plane bucks so violently that I’m nearly thrown out of my seat. It’s only the seatbelt I’d strapped on out of habit that prevents me from hitting the ceiling as the plane takes a sudden nosedive.

Lucas grabs the controls, a steady stream of obscenities coming out of his mouth as he frantically tries to correct our course. “Shit, fuck, shit, shit, motherfucking shit—”

“What hit us?” My voice is steady, my mind strangely calm as I assess the situation. There is a grinding, sputtering noise coming from the engines. I can smell smoke and hear screams in the back, so I know there’s a fire. It had to be an explosion. That means someone either shot at us from another plane or a surface-to-air missile exploded in close vicinity, damaging one or more of the engines. It couldn’t have been a direct missile hit because the Boeing is equipped with an anti-missile defense that’s designed to repel all but the most advanced weapons—and because we are still alive and not blown into pieces.

“I’m not sure,” Lucas manages to say as he wrestles with the controls. The plane evens out for a brief second and then nosedives again. “Does it fucking matter?”

I’m not sure, to be honest. The analytical part of me wants to know what—or who—is going to be responsible for my death. I doubt it’s Al-Quadar; according to my sources, they don’t have weapons this sophisticated. That leaves the possibility of error by some trigger-happy Uzbekistani soldier or an intentional strike by someone else. The Russians, perhaps, though why they would do this is anyone’s guess.

Still, Lucas is right. I don’t know why I care. Knowing the truth won’t change the outcome. I can see the snowy peaks of Pamir in the distance, and I know we’re not going to make it there.

Lucas resumes his cursing as he fights with the controls, and I grip the edge of my seat, my eyes trained on the ground rushing toward us at a terrifyingly rapid pace. There is a roaring sound in my ears, and I realize that it’s my own heartbeat—that I can actually hear the blood coursing through my veins as surging adrenaline sharpens all of my senses.

The plane makes a few more attempts to come out of the nosedive, each one slowing our fall by a few seconds, but nothing seems able to arrest the lethal descent.

As I watch us plummeting to our deaths, I have only one regret.

I will never get to hold Nora again.

Two days without Julian.

I can’t believe it’s been two entire days without Julian. I’ve been going about my usual routine, but without him here, everything feels different.

Emptier. Darker.

It’s like the sun has hidden behind a cloud, leaving my world in shadow.

It’s crazy. Utterly insane. I’ve been without Julian before. When I was on the island, he would leave on these trips all the time. In fact, he spent more time
off
the island than
on
it, and somehow I still managed to function. This time around, however, I have to constantly fight off a horrible feeling of unease, of anxiety that seems to worsen with every hour.

“I really don’t know what’s wrong with me,” I tell Rosa during our morning walk. “I lived for eighteen years without him, and now all of a sudden, I can’t go for two days?”

She grins at me. “Well, of course. The two of you are all but inseparable, so this doesn’t surprise me in the least. I’ve never seen a couple this much in love before.”

I sigh, ruefully shaking my head. For all her seeming practicality, Rosa has a romantic streak as wide as the sea. A couple of weeks ago, I finally confided in her, telling her how Julian and I met and about my time on the island. She had been shocked, but not nearly as much as I would’ve been in her place. In fact, she seemed to think the whole thing was rather poetic.

“He stole you because he couldn’t live without you,” she said dreamily when I tried to explain to her why I still have reservations about Julian. “It’s like the kind of thing you read about in books or see in movies . . .” And when I stared at her, hardly able to believe my ears, she added wistfully, “I wish someone wanted
me
enough to steal me away.”

So yes, Rosa is definitely not the person to knock some sense into me. She thinks my withering away without Julian is a natural result of our grand love affair, instead of something that likely requires psychiatric help.

Of course, Ana is not much better either.

“It’s normal to miss your husband,” the housekeeper tells me when I can barely force myself to eat at dinner. “I’m sure Julian misses you just as much.”

“I don’t know, Ana,” I say doubtfully, pushing the rice around on my plate. “I haven’t heard from him all day. He responded to my email yesterday, but I sent him two emails today—and nothing.” This, more than anything, is what upsets me, I think. Julian either doesn’t care about the fact that I’m worried—or he’s not in a position to respond to me, being knee-deep in fighting terrorists.

Either possibility makes me queasy.

“He could be flying somewhere,” Ana says reasonably, taking my plate away. “Or be someplace with no signal. Truly, you shouldn’t worry. I know Julian, and he can take care of himself.”

“Yes, I’m sure he can, but he’s still human.” He can still be killed by a stray bullet or an untimely bomb.

“I know, Nora,” Ana says soothingly, patting my arm, and I see the same worry reflected in the depths of her brown eyes. “I know, but you can’t let yourself think bad thoughts. I’m sure you’ll hear from him in a few hours. He’ll contact you by morning at the latest.”

* * *

I sleep fitfully, waking up every couple of hours to check my email and phone. By morning, there’s still no word from Julian, and I stumble wearily out of bed, bleary-eyed but determined.

If Julian isn’t contacting me, I’m going to take matters into my own hands.

The first thing I do is hunt down Peter Sokolov. He’s talking with a few guards on the far edge of the estate when I find him, and he seems surprised when I approach him and ask to speak to him privately. Nevertheless, he accommodates my request right away.

As soon as we’re out of earshot of the others, I ask, “Have you heard from Julian?” I still find the Russian man intimidating, but he’s the only one I know who may have answers.

“No,” he responds in his accented voice. “Not since their plane took off from Moscow yesterday.” There is a hint of tension around his eyes as he speaks, and my anxiety triples as I realize that Peter is concerned too.

“They were supposed to check in, weren’t they?” I say, staring up at his exotically handsome features. My chest feels like I can’t get enough air. “Something went wrong, didn’t it?”

“We can’t assume that yet.” His tone is carefully neutral. “It’s possible they’re not responding to our calls because of security reasons—because they don’t want anyone to intercept their communications.”

“You don’t really believe that.”

“It’s unlikely,” Peter admits, his gray eyes cool on my face. “This is not the usual procedure in these types of cases.”

“Right, of course.” Doing my best to battle the nauseating fear spreading through me, I ask evenly, “So what’s Plan B? Are you going to send in a rescue team? Do you have more men standing by that can act as backup?”

Peter shakes his head. “There’s nothing to be done until we know more,” he explains. “I’ve already put out feelers in Russia and Tajikistan, so we should have a better idea of what happened soon. So far, all we know is that their plane took off from Moscow without any problems.”

“When do you think you’ll hear back from your sources?” I’m trying to contain my panic, but some of it seeps through in my voice. “Today? Tomorrow?”

“I don’t know, Mrs. Esguerra,” he says, and I see a hint of pity in those merciless gray eyes. “It could be at any time. I will let you know as soon as I hear something.”

“Thanks, Peter,” I say and, not knowing what else to do, walk back to the house.

* * *

The next six hours go by at a crawl. I pace around the house, going from room to room, unable to focus on any specific activity. Whenever I sit down to study or try to paint, a dozen different scenarios, each one more horrible than the next, start playing in my head. I want to believe that everything will be okay, that Julian’s plane disappeared off the grid for some innocuous reason, but I know better than that.

There are no fairy tales in the world Julian and I live in, only savage reality.

I haven’t been able to eat anything all day, though Ana has tried tempting me with everything from steak to dessert. To pacify her, I eat a few bites of papaya around lunchtime and resume my aimless pacing around the house.

By early afternoon, I’m literally sick from anxiety. My head is pounding, and my stomach feels like it’s eating itself, the acid burning a hole in my insides.

“Let’s go for a swim,” Rosa offers when she finds me in the library. I can see the concern on her face, and I know Ana probably sent her to distract me. Rosa is usually too busy with her duties to take off in the middle of the day, but she’s obviously making an exception today.

The last thing I feel like doing is swimming, but I agree. Rosa’s company is better than driving myself insane with worry.

As we exit the library together, I see Peter walking in our direction, a grave expression on his face.

My heart stops for a moment, then begins slamming furiously against my ribcage.

“What is it?” My tongue can barely form the words. “Did you hear anything?”

“The plane went down in Uzbekistan, a couple of hundred miles from the Tajikistan border,” he says quietly, stopping in front of me. “It looks like there was a miscommunication, and the Uzbekistani military shot them down.”

Blackness creeps in at the edges of my vision. “Shot them down?” My voice sounds like it’s coming from a distance, like the words belong to someone else. I am vaguely aware of Rosa placing a supportive arm around my back, but her touch does nothing to arrest the iciness spreading through me.

“We’re looking for the wreckage right now,” Peter says, almost gently. “I’m sorry, Mrs. Esguerra, but I doubt they could’ve survived.”

I’m not sure how I get to the bedroom, but I find myself there, curled up in a ball of silent agony on the bed that Julian and I shared.

I can feel soft hands on my hair, hear voices murmuring in Spanish, and I know both Ana and Rosa are there with me. The housekeeper sounds like she’s crying. I want to cry too, but I can’t. The pain is too raw, too deep to allow the comfort of tears.

I thought I knew what it feels like to have your heart ripped out. When I mistakenly thought that Julian was dead, I had been devastated, destroyed. Those months without him had been the worst ones of my life. I thought I knew what it was like to feel loss, to know that I would never see his smile again or feel the warmth of his embrace.

It’s only now that I realize that there are degrees of agony. That pain can range from devastating to soul-shattering. When I lost Julian before, he had been the center of my world. Now, however, he is my entire world, and I don’t know how to exist without him.

“Oh, Nora . . .” Ana’s voice is thick with tears as she strokes my hair. “I’m sorry, child . . . I’m so sorry . . .”

I want to tell her that I’m sorry too, that I know Julian mattered to her as well, but I can’t. I can’t speak. Even breathing seems to require exorbitant effort, as though my lungs have forgotten how to function. One tiny breath in, one tiny breath out—that’s all I seem capable of doing at the moment.

Just breathing. Just not dying.

After a while, the quiet murmurs and soothing touches stop, and I realize that I’m alone. They must’ve covered me with a blanket before they left, because I can feel its soft fluffy weight on top of me. It should make me feel warm, but it doesn’t.

All I feel is a frozen, aching void where my heart used to be.

* * *

“Nora, child . . . Come, drink something . . .”

Ana and Rosa are back, their soft hands pulling me to a sitting position. A cup of hot chocolate is offered to me, and I accept it on autopilot, cradling it between my cold palms.

“Just a sip,” Ana urges. “You haven’t eaten all day. Julian wouldn’t want this, you know that.”

The jolt of agony at the mention of his name is so strong that the cup almost slips out of my grip. Rosa grabs for it, steadying my hands, and gently, but inexorably pushes the cup toward my lips. “Come on, Nora,” she whispers, her gaze filled with sympathy. “Just drink some.”

I force myself to take a few sips. The rich, warm liquid trickles down my throat, the combined rush of sugar and caffeine chasing away some of my numb exhaustion. Feeling a fraction more alive, I glance at the window and realize with shock that it’s already dark—that I must’ve lain there for a few hours without registering the passage of time.

“Any word from Peter?” I ask, looking back at Ana and Rosa. “Did they find the wreckage?”

Rosa looks relieved that I’m talking again. “We haven’t seen him since the afternoon,” she says, and Ana nods, her eyes red-rimmed and swollen.

“Okay.” I take a few more sips of the hot chocolate and then hand the cup back to Ana. “Thank you.”

“Can I get you something to eat?” Ana asks hopefully. “A sandwich perhaps, or some fruit?”

My stomach roils at the thought of food, but I know that I need to eat something. I can’t die alongside Julian, no matter how appealing that option seems at the moment. “Yes, please.” My voice sounds strained. “Just a piece of toast with cheese, if you don’t mind.”

Jumping off the bed, Rosa gives me a huge, approving smile. “There we go. See, Ana, I told you she’s a fighter.” And before I can change my mind about the meal, she runs out of the room to grab the food.

“I’m going to shower,” I tell Ana, getting up as well. All of a sudden, I have a strong urge to be alone—to be away from the smothering concern I see on Ana’s face. My body feels cold and brittle, like an icicle that might shatter at any moment, and my eyes are burning with unshed tears.

Just focus on breathing
.
Just one tiny breath after another.

“Of course, child.” Ana gives me a kind, weary smile. “You go right ahead. The food will be waiting for you when you come out.”

And as I make my escape into the bathroom, I see her quietly slipping out of the room.

* * *

“Nora! Oh my God, Nora!”

Rosa’s screams and frantic knocking on the bathroom door startle me out of my numb, almost catatonic state. I have no idea how long I’ve been standing under the hot spray, but I immediately jump out. Then, wrapping a towel around myself, I race to the door, my wet feet sliding on cold tiles.

My heart hammering in my throat, I yank open the door. “What is it?”

“He’s alive!” Rosa’s scream nearly deafens me with its high-pitched volume. “Nora, Julian is alive!”

“Alive?” For a moment, I can’t process what she’s saying, my brain sluggish from hunger and grief. “Julian is alive?”

“Yes!” she squeals, grabbing my hands and jumping up and down. “Peter just got word that they found him and a few of his men alive. They’re being taken to the hospital as we speak!”

My knees buckle, and I sway on my feet. “To the hospital?” My voice is barely above a whisper. “He’s really alive?”

“Yes!” Rosa pulls me into a bone-crushing hug, then releases me, stepping back with a giant grin on her face. “Isn’t that amazing?”

“Yes, of course . . .” My head is spinning with joy and disbelief, my pulse racing a mile a minute. “You said he’s being taken to a hospital?”

“Yes, that’s what Peter said.” Rosa’s expression sobers a bit. “He’s talking to Ana downstairs. I didn’t stay to listen—I wanted to give you the news as soon as possible.”

“Of course, thank you!” I’m electrified all of a sudden, all traces of my mental fog and despair falling away.
Julian is alive and being taken to a hospital!

Running to the closet, I pull out the first dress I find and throw it on, dropping the towel on the floor. Then I dash to the door and fly down the stairs, with Rosa hurrying after me.

Peter is in the kitchen next to Ana. The housekeeper’s eyes widen as she sees me barreling toward them, my feet bare and my hair dripping-wet from the shower. I probably look like a crazy woman, but I don’t give a damn. All I care about is finding out more about Julian.

“How is he?” I pant, skidding to a stop a foot away from the two of them. “What kind of condition is he in?”

An expression shockingly similar to a smile flickers across Peter’s hard face as he looks at me. “They’re going to run some tests at the hospital, but right now it looks like your husband survived a plane crash with nothing worse than a broken arm, a couple of cracked ribs, and a nasty gash on his forehead. He’s unconscious, but that appears to be mostly due to blood loss from his head wound.”

And as I stare at Peter in open-mouthed incredulity, he explains, “The plane fell in a heavily wooded area, so the trees cushioned much of the impact. The pilot’s cabin—where Esguerra and Kent were sitting—got ripped off by the force of the impact, and that seems to have saved their lives.” The smile disappears then, and his metallic eyes darken. “Most of the others died, though. The fuel was in the back, and it exploded, destroying that portion of the plane. Only three of the soldiers back there survived, and they’re badly burned. If it weren’t for the combat gear they were all wearing, they would not have survived either.”

“Oh my God.” A wave of horror washes over me. Julian is alive, but nearly fifty of his men perished. I’ve had minimal interaction with most of the guards, but I’ve seen many of them around the estate. I know them, if only by sight. They were all strong, seemingly indestructible men. And now they’re dead. Gone—just as Julian would’ve been if he hadn’t been up front.

“What about Lucas?” I ask, starting to shake with delayed reaction. It’s beginning to hit me that Julian was in a plane crash and
survived
. That, like a cat with nine lives, he beat the odds yet again.

“Kent has a broken leg and a severe concussion. He was also unconscious when they were found.”

Relief spirals through me, and my eyes, burning with dryness before, fill with sudden tears. Tears of gratitude, of joy so intense that it’s impossible to contain. I want to laugh and sob at the same time.

Julian is alive, and so is the man who once saved his life.

“Oh, Nora, child . . .” Ana’s plump arms close around me as my tears overflow. “It will be all right now . . . Everything will be all right . . .”

Shaking with repressed sobs, I let her hold me for a moment in a motherly embrace. Then I pull away, smiling through the tears. For the first time, I believe that it
will
be all right. That the worst is now over.

“How soon can we fly out?” I ask Peter, wiping at the wetness on my cheeks. “Can the plane be ready in an hour?”

“Fly out?” He gives me a strange look. “We can’t fly out, Mrs. Esguerra. I’m under strict orders to remain on the estate and make sure that you are safe here.”

“What?” I stare at him incredulously. “But Julian is hurt! He’s in the hospital, and I’m his wife—”

“Yes, I understand.” Peter’s expression doesn’t change, his eyes cool and veiled as he looks at me. “But I’m afraid Esguerra will quite literally murder me if I allow you to be in danger.”

“Are you telling me that I can’t go see my husband who was just in a plane crash?” My voice rises as a wave of sudden fury sweeps through me. “That I’m supposed to sit here and do nothing while Julian is lying injured half a world away?”

Peter doesn’t appear impressed with my outburst. “I will do my best to arrange a secure phone call and perhaps a video connection for you,” he says calmly. “I will also keep you informed of any developments in regards to his health. Beyond that, I’m afraid there is nothing I can do at the moment. I am currently working to tighten security around the hospital where Esguerra and the others are being taken, so hopefully he will return here safe and sound, and you will see him shortly.”

I want to scream, yell, and argue, but I know it won’t do any good. I have about as much leverage over Peter as I do over Julian—which is none at all. “Fine,” I say, taking a deep breath to calm myself. “You do that—and I want to know as soon as he regains consciousness.”

Peter inclines his head. “Of course, Mrs. Esguerra. You will be informed right away.”