I open my eyes and look to my right, to the satellite phone that’s lying on the glass table beside my deck chair. It’s for emergencies only—I make calls from ports whenever I just want to check in—but every day that I don’t call and talk to Marissa, tell her I’m coming back and I’m going to be a part of her life whether she likes it or not, feels like an emergency, like I’m lost at sea with no compass and no life preserver.
She’s starting to feel more and more like an anchor, like a North Star. Like my North Star. With every week that passes, it seems my direction just feels . . . wrong. Like I’m going the wrong way. Like I’m sailing away when I should be sailing toward.
Toward Marissa.
THIRTY-FOUR
Marissa
There’s no question that the man brought into the room is Greg Davenport. This is the first time I’ve actually gotten to see him since this whole thing started. Jensen talked to him alone here at the prison the first time.
If I were passing him on the street, I think I’d recognize him. He looks like an older, slightly paler version of his sons. The resemblance is striking. But for the softer brown eyes and lighter blond hair, and the fact that he’s older, of course, Greg Davenport could be a brother to Nash rather than his father.
His eyes flicker to mine and he smiles. It’s a pleasant smile, but it seems a little tired and a lot worried. I wonder if he’s sleeping. If I were in his shoes, I doubt I would be.
We’ve taken every precaution to keep things quiet until we can get Slava and the other two indicted and in custody. That won’t guarantee Greg’s safety, but it sure can’t hurt.
His first question lets me know that if he’s losing sleep, it’s not over worry for his own safety. “How are my sons?”
Jensen looks to me for an answer. He doesn’t keep in regular contact with Cash like I do. For obvious reasons.
I clear my throat and smile pleasantly at Mr. Davenport. “They’re both fine, sir.”
He laughs and I get a glimpse of what Nash might’ve looked like in his carefree days. I’m sure he was breathtaking! Now, there’s only bitterness and anger. But even so, he’s still the most handsome man I know.
Well, did know.
“And who might you be?”
“I’m sorry. My name is Marissa Townsend. I’m working with Jensen as a special prosecutor.”
He shakes his head, looking duly impressed. Neither Greg nor Jensen knows the truth about my involvement in the case. I’m sure they both think my rich father called in a favor. But that’s not the case at all. In order to be appointed to the case by the attorney general, I had to tell him about my involvement. I had to convince him that my intimate knowledge of some of the events and players would be a help to the case. I explained about being kidnapped and spending time in the presence of some of the suspects, about learning things from listening to them. Thankfully, he didn’t require me to get specific. If he had, he’d have seen that I’m not nearly as important as I made it appear. What I have invested in this is heart. And what the attorney general doesn’t realize is that that’s what makes me most valuable.
Greg’s voice brings me back to the present.
“You must be the one Nash knows.”
“Yes, I know Nash.”
He nods and smiles. “So you’re the one.”
I frown, my stomach flipping over at something I see in his eyes, in his smile.
“I’m not sure I understand.”
“There comes a time in life when every man meets the woman who changes the game, who changes him. You’re the one.” I feel a blush sting my cheeks. I look nervously at my laced fingers where they rest on the table in front of me. I’m aware of Jensen’s curious gaze on me. I do my best to ignore it. He doesn’t know that the Nash we’re talking about isn’t the Nash he thinks he knows. And Jensen also thinks that relationship is over. Very much over. Which it is. I just wish it weren’t.
“I think you must be mistaken.”
“Oh no. I’m not mistaken. I’m not surprised it’s a woman like you. You remind me of Lizzie. In all the ways that matter.”
His look turns sad.
“I’m sure you miss her. This won’t bring her back, but maybe bringing her justice and being able to watch your sons grow old will ease the pain.”
“Nothing ever eases the pain of losing your soul mate. You’re not as smart as you look if you think different.”
He’s not trying to insult me. I can tell from his earnest expression. He’s trying to tell me something. Something I already know.
He’s trying to tell me I’ll never be whole without Nash. Never.
But I already knew that.
THIRTY-FIVE
Nash
Three months later
I take one last look around the tiny apartment before I say goodbye to Sharifa and Jamilla. It’s not a great space, but compared to the shack-like structure where they lived in their village of Beernassi, this place is like the Ritz.
The walls are painted a cheery yellow and the furniture, while not exactly new, is a pale green and in good shape. The kitchen’s white appliances are clean and there’s even a microwave now, which Sharifa thinks is the most extravagant part of all.
But not Jamilla. If I had to guess, I’d say she would say her playroom is the most extravagant part of all.
It consists of a thick plastic play kitchen, complete with a pink table and four tiny chairs, each one currently occupied by a different stuffed animal. She’s serving them the meal she just cooked in her little plastic skillet. The sun is streaming in through the window, turning her raven hair to glistening waves of black silk. In the three weeks since I took them away from their home to bring them here to Savannah, the change in her diet is evident. Her skin and hair look healthy, and her cough has almost completely disappeared.
Not having to worry about someone bursting through the door to gun them down and not having to wonder where they’ll get money for food is showing, too. Sharifa is more relaxed, and her calm spills over into her daughter’s smiles and laughter. Maybe one day the memory of her father’s brutal murder will be a vague memory.
I doubt Sharifa will ever fully recover from the loss of Yusuf, but this move is helping as much as anything can. Every time Jamilla giggles, Sharifa smiles. It makes me think there might be hope in the world after all.
I’ve been able to honor my friend by giving his family freedom they’ve never known before. And stability. All their basic needs will be met. I set up an account for them. It’s funded by a substantial savings that’s constantly generating money. Most of the dividend will go into Sharifa’s checking account. A small portion will go into a college fund for Jamilla and an even smaller portion back into another savings account for emergencies. I’ve also already hired an immigration lawyer to help her become a naturalized citizen so she can work here, so that’s been taken care of, too. All in all, they should be all set for a long, long time to come.