In the Likely Event(16)

“Nate—” I cringed. Shit, I was never going to get this right.

He arched a single brow at me. “As. Soon. As. I. Say. It.”

“Have you always been a pain in the ass?” I fired back.

“That’s pretty funny, coming from you.”

I rolled my eyes and folded my arms across my chest.

He glanced down and winced, jerking his focus to a spot over my head as he took another deep breath. “I’ll be at all your meetings, your meals, and the one who stands outside the door when you pee.”

“That’s graphic.”

“If you need me, I will be across the hall tonight and every other night that you’re in Afghanistan. If your life is at risk, press this button.” He pushed a remote the size of my thumb into my hand and let its black nylon necklace hang loose. “And I will appear.”

I looked down at the device and huffed a sarcastic laugh. “So this is what it takes to get your phone number? A girl has to haul herself into a war zone?”

“Izzy,” he whispered, stepping back and putting a few feet of distance between us.

“Oh no.” I pocketed the magic-button remote. “If I can’t call you Nate, then you don’t get to call me Izzy. Fair is fair.”

“Well, I’m not calling you Isa, that’s for damn sure,” he shot back. “I’m not your father.”

My father. Because he knew that had been Dad’s pet name for me. He knew all sorts of things he shouldn’t because he was Nate and I was Izzy, and as screwed up as this place was, facts were facts. History was history.

“Then Ms. Astor will be just fine.”

“Then have a great evening, Ms. Astor.” He gave me a mock salute and headed for the door. “I’ll be here bright and early to fetch you for our first destination.”

After all this time, this was where we were? Not quite strangers or enemies, but . . . bitter what? Acquaintances?

“So you’re staying on my detail?” My voice hitched, and he heard it, pausing midstep before turning to face me.

“You won’t leave, which means neither can I. Simple physics.” His gaze narrowed. “But you weren’t supposed to be here, either, were you? Greg Newcastle is supposed to be in this room.”

I felt the blood drain from my face. “You can assign me to someone else,” I offered again in a rush.

He ignored me. “So why did you get on the plane? Did Newcastle get sick too?”

I swallowed.

“Huh. Not sick, then. It was your choice.” He tilted his head. “Why did you add Kunduz and Samangan to the itinerary? Those weren’t on the list before you got on that plane.” He stalked forward.

Shit. Shit. Shit.

“All of your little friends are sticking to the east, and Newcastle was focused on Kandahar. Something about the girls’ chess team Senator Lauren has been working to get out.”

“Hey, that was actually my project. I’m the one who’s been coordinating everything. Newcastle just wanted the credit.”

He stopped right in front of me, staring down like he could see right through me if he tried hard enough. “And yet you added two provinces to the north.”

“Nate,” I whispered, already breaking the rules.

“What aren’t you telling me?”

“I . . .” I shook my head and closed my eyes. I could have lied to anyone else, but not him.

“Don’t even think of lying to me.” His thumb and forefinger gently lifted my chin. “What’s going on?”

I opened my eyes and my heart clenched. Under all that armor, this was Nate. My Nate. He would help, I knew he would . . . as long as I wasn’t putting myself in danger. That was where he’d draw the line. And if he thought I was already in danger just being here, there was every chance he’d tie me to the seat of the next outbound aircraft once I told him the truth.

“What’s in the north, Isabeau?” My name was nothing more than a whisper.

“Serena.”





CHAPTER SIX


NATHANIEL


Saint Louis

November 2011

The water was freezing, shocking the air from my lungs as we started the frantic swim for shore. At least I thought the shore was this way. The fog wasn’t exactly doing us any favors, and neither was the current, dragging us downstream with the rest of the passengers as we fought our way toward the bank.

The reactions around us varied from stoic to downright hysterical, and I did what always worked for me when shit went down—narrowed my focus to one goal. Right now, that goal was keeping Isabeau alive.

“You okay?” I asked Izzy, only losing sight of her between the waves of the Missouri as the plane submerged fully behind us, a rush of air bubbling up from the fuselage.

Holy shit, that just happened.

“Never swam in shoes before,” she answered with a teeth-chattering grunt and more of a grimace than a smile.

“It’s a day for firsts.” I swam closer to her, my heart thundering as we fought for every foot against the current.

Off in the distance, I heard someone cry for help, and another passenger answered. Hopefully the rafts could pick up more of us, especially the ones who couldn’t swim, but I was grateful that the people around us all seemed to be forging forward.