Chapter 22
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
“In a surprising turn of events,” the reporter began, and Sam turned up the volume on the TV, “President Rydell has decided to drastically reduce the tariff rates for China. We’re not sure what led to his decision, but we’re still investigating the sudden change in his policy.”
“It worked,” Sam said under her breath. She rubbed her hands up and down her thighs.
“In other news, the video President Rydell released seven nights ago, which exposed the truth about a joint CIA and Navy SEAL operation over ten years ago, continues to spark controversy and public outcry from leading officials. They want to know how many times the U.S. has interjected themselves into foreign affairs. We reached out to the Kremlin, but they’ve yet to offer any kind of statement . . .”
The rest of the reporter’s words became white noise at the sound of her buzzer.
Owen? But Emily’s words came back to mind. Owen would call her the second he could, right?
She crossed the room with slow steps, hating herself for clinging to the idea that it could be him, even if, as the rational part of her brain told her, he was still missing.
She dropped her head and closed her eyes as she pressed down on the intercom. “Hello?”
There was a pause and then, “It’s me.”
Quick breaths had her clutching her chest.
Seven agonizing days since she’d seen him.
Owen York.
Alive.
Outside my building.
Tears filled her eyes as she buzzed him in, unable to speak. Unable to do anything but run to the door.
“Wait,” the guard outside called after her, but she pulled free of his grasp and went to the stairs—knowing Owen would take the stairs to get to her faster.
She rushed down the steps.
“Miss McCarthy!” one of the guys—Wyatt, maybe—called after her as she shoved open the door to the lobby.
The area was empty, though, and the elevator was on her floor.
Shit. “He’s upstairs,” she sputtered, bumping into Wyatt as she headed back into the stairwell.
Once on her floor, she captured a breath of air at the sight of Owen outside her door, talking to his other teammate.
He turned, his arms at his sides as if anchored to the ground.
Forgetting Wyatt trailed behind her, she ran toward Owen.
There was a limp as he moved, but it didn’t seem to stop him from grabbing her, from gathering her into his arms, from pulling her off her feet and tight against him.
She looped her arms around his neck, clinging to him for dear life, never wanting to let go.
“You’re alive,” she cried. “But you look hurt.”
“Nothing I can’t handle,” he said, and she could tell he was hiding a wince. He lowered her to the ground a moment later, and he brushed his thumb over her cheek and found her eyes. “I would’ve called first, but no one would let me near a goddamn phone.”
She wrapped her arm around his waist and peeked at Wyatt still behind them. She needed to be alone with Owen, damn it.
“You okay, man?” Wyatt asked Owen, his gray eyes narrowing, worry crossing his face.
“Yeah. Thanks for keeping an eye on her.” He shifted his gaze toward the other guy now heading their way. “You can go. Thanks again.”
“Be in touch, brother,” Wyatt said, and the guys exchanged a few more words before Owen and Sam headed toward her place.
She took purposefully slow steps, knowing Owen wouldn’t want to fess up to whatever pain he was in.
“The second the president let me leave the White House, I rushed straight here.” Once they entered her place, he stood with his hand perched atop her breakfast bar, his eyes on hers.
Just how severe was his injury?
“I’m okay,” he said as if reading her thoughts.
“Why don’t you sit?” She swiped at the tears on her cheek and gestured to the couch.
“What I have to say . . . I think I need to stay standing if you don’t mind?” His eyes fell to the floor, and her shoulders shook from a sudden chill.
“What happened?”
“I got Teteruk.”
His words were like a hard blow to the spine. “Is he dead?” she whispered, not sure if she wanted to hear the answer.
“I tried to pull the trigger.” His brow creased.
“I tried damn hard to kill him.” He tapped at his temple.
“But then Jason was in my head.” His voice cracked, and his eyes became a glossy greenish brown.
“I wanted to murder the son of a bitch so bad, but . . .” Both hands fisted at his sides now.
“I couldn’t do it. I knew Jason wouldn’t want me to, and I couldn’t let him down, you know? ” A tear slowly rolled down his cheek.
She stepped forward, touched his forearm, and looked up into his eyes. “You’re not a killer.”
He was quiet for a moment, his forehead creased, his body tense.
“I thought maybe Teteruk had my ring.” His eyes lowered to the chain around her neck.
“Your rosary beads, too. I thought if I got them back, it’d somehow make things right.
” He shook his head. “I couldn’t find them, though. I’m so damn sorry.”
Tears brimmed in her eyes, and she wasn’t sure how long she could hold them back. “No, it’s okay,” she whisper-cried.
His nostrils flared, and he wiped at his face as if embarrassed by the show of emotion. His lower lip trembled, and he touched his chest. “It’s over, so why the hell does it still hurt so much?”
She shook her head, trying to stay strong. “Because nothing will bring them back.”
He sucked in a sharp breath. “I can’t bring them back.” He hissed the words as if coming to the realization for the first time. Then, he slowly fell to his knees, and she went with him.
She held on to his face, touching her forehead to his, and she cried with him.
For their loss.
For everything they’d been through.
“You’re so strong, Owen.” A heaviness filled her chest, moving through her lungs and sweeping down her arms. “But it’s time you let someone in.” She edged back to catch his eyes, still holding his face. “Let me in.”