Chapter 2
Two
They climbed in silence at a fast, but manageable, pace. As the elevation rose, the earth beneath their feet changed from dry limestone to sandy soil, and the shrubby vegetation gave way to olive trees, myrtle thickets, and the region’s ubiquitous strawberry trees.
Omar stopped under an olive tree to scrub his hand over his forehead and eyes and press his thumb and middle finger firmly into his temples. Vise-like pain wrapped around his head in a tight band. The headache wasn’t a surprise.
The first one had been. He’d been a rookie with the DEA on his first undercover assignment when a drug buy went bad.
Locked in a warehouse with more than a dozen heavily armed, poorly disciplined gangbangers eager to go to war, he’d managed to diffuse the conflict.
But the moment the danger had passed, the headache gripped him.
After the third time, he’d mentioned it in passing to his partner, who nodded sagely. “Tension headache. Nothing you can do about it.”
So he accepted the headaches as an inevitable part of the job—until he left the agency to work for Jake.
“Bullcrap,” his new boss declared after witnessing one.
Potomac’s on-staff mental health counselor and physician had come up with a program for him. Turns out, his old partner and new boss had both been partially right. The headaches were inevitable, unless he avoided the trigger.
Since the trigger was the job-related stress of making high-pressure decisions in dangerous situations, prevention was out.
Jake set up a stress management program for all the field agents and any other employees who wanted to take part.
Omar learned to handle his stress—and the resulting headaches—through biofeedback, workouts, yoga, relaxation exercises, and meditation.
The tools helped, and so did the camaraderie.
He no longer had to hide the headaches and ride out the symptoms.
Right now, though, the only tool available to him was to dry swallow a couple ibuprofen tablets. He dug the pills out of his pack and choked them down. A moment later, Elle was at his elbow, holding out a canteen of water.
“Here.”
“I’m good.” He waved her off, and her eyes flashed.
“Take it,” she insisted with a small frown. “Dehydration isn’t going to help, you know.”
She was right. He reached for the metal bottle, leaned back against the tree trunk, and took a long swig of the cold liquid. “Thanks.”
“De rien.” Her expression softened. “Do you want to find a spot where we can hunker down until it passes?”
“We don’t have that kind of time.” The headache would gradually weaken and, in an hour or so, it would be nothing more than a faint impression.
She drew her eyebrows together, and he went on, staving off the argument she was formulating.
“I’m not being a tough guy. I’m being a realist. We need to get Hanna off this cliff. Now.”
They both glanced ahead. Hanna had stopped on the path. She looked back at them over her shoulder with wide, worried eyes.
“We’re coming,” Omar called as he pushed off the tree.
“Please tell me if the headache gets worse,” Marielle said, her voice soft, as she fell into step beside him. “If we need to stop, I’ll find a copse of trees.”
“We won’t need to stop.”
“But if we do.”
“We won’t.”
Her tone sharpened. “Shame on me for worrying about you.”
He surprised himself by grabbing her hand. “I appreciate it. I really do. But to the extent my headache is from stress, the sooner we’re off the street and in the safe house, the sooner I’ll feel better.”
She squeezed his palm. “About the safe house …”
“Yeah?” he prompted.
“We can’t go there.” She dropped his hand and quickened her pace.
He shook his head in confusion and instantly regretted it as the band of pain tightened.
He forced a ragged breath out from between his clenched teeth as he followed her.
“What are you talking about? We’re going to duck into your friend’s inn and stay out of sight while we arrange transportation to the 5th Arrondissement. That’s the plan.”
“That was the plan. But we need to regroup and come up with a new plan.”
He gaped at her. “Why?”
She cut her eyes toward Hanna, who was now only a few feet ahead of them, in clear earshot. “Let’s talk about it once we’re inside.”
He suppressed a growl, about to force the issue, but just then they reached the summit.
Hanna stopped.
Marielle step up beside her and pointed west. “See that inlet?”
Hanna nodded.
Omar came to stand alongside them and followed her index finger. The cliff curved around an inlet where the turquoise sea lapped the rocks.
“On the other side of the calanque, there’s a trail that leads straight down to the shore that fronts the village. It’s a gradual descent. An easy walk."
Marielle smiled encouragingly at Hanna after this explanation, but he the reassurance was meant for him. She was still fretting about his headache.
The irony.
This headache was because of her. More precisely, because he was worried about her.
From the moment they'd been assigned to this mission, he understood they'd be in danger once they boarded the yacht.
It was part of the job. But once the danger was real, not theoretical, the visceral fear that Marielle could be harmed—or worse—settled into his gut.
He now understood why Jake had refused to give a real-life husband and wife team this assignment. Jake had told Omar that if anything happened to Olivia, Trent would never recover. Omar imagined losing Marielle on this mission, and the pain crushing his skull intensified.
He shook the thought away and blinked. Both women staring at him. They were obviously waiting for an answer. Too bad he didn't know the question.
“Come again?”
“Can you get the binocs and do a sweep of the ridge?” Marielle asked, her careful enunciation not quite hiding her concern.
“On it,” he said with forced vigor.
He pressed the lenses to his eyes and scanned the ridgeline was a practiced gaze. Once he was satisfied, he lowered the binoculars and said, “All clear except for a family of red foxes. There’s a den with a dog, a vixen, and two kits about thirty feet off the path in a thicket down the hillside.”
Marielle pushed out her lower lip and considered this new information.
“They usually come out at dusk,” Hanna offered.
“Then we better get moving while the sun’s still up.” Omar shouldered his pack and set out to the west with the women on his heels.