by the context, however, and there was even more steel in his voice than in Carly’s when he answered her. “The hospital would give me no information on Tahra’s condition until I said I was her fiancé. Have you never told a lie for the purest of reasons, Miss Edwards?”
A flash of something that might have been guilt crossed her face, but she raised her chin and said, “Ms. Edwards. Not ‘miss.’”
“I apologize, Ms. Edwards,” Marek said stiffly. “We do not have that distinction in Zakhar, and Tahra never—” He chopped that sentence off before he could finish it, then returned to his initial point. “I would tell any lie I had to in that situation. I would do it again, no matter the consequences. In my heart Tahra is mine to cherish, and I could not bear—”
He broke off as emotion threatened to swamp him. When he had himself under control, he said, “My deception has harmed no one, least of all Tahra. Ask yourself what you would have done under the circumstances, Ms. Edwards.”
Her eyes searched his face for a full minute before they softened. “Okay, I’ll buy that. But what are you going to do when Tahra regains consciousness?”
“That will be up to Tahra. If she asks me to leave, I will leave.” He hesitated, then added, “I pray she will not, but that is in God’s hands.”
“Okay,” Carly repeated, and the confrontational tone in her voice was noticeably absent. “So what can you tell me about how Tahra was injured? Alec wasn’t all that specific when we talked on the phone, and I came directly to the hospital from the airport.” She gave a delicate snort. “And though the guards on the door let me pass—after I showed them my passport and they checked with their commanding officer, who consulted with the US embassy—they either wouldn’t or couldn’t give me any details.”
“I can tell you what I know...but only as Tahra’s sister.” He gave her an apologetic smile. “This information cannot be broadcast because these attacks are a breach of national security, and an investigation is underway. You are a journalist, and—”
She cut him off. “You have my word. Anything you tell me as Tahra’s sister will be in strictest confidence.”
Marek quickly relayed the facts he knew. “So you see, Tahra could still be in danger. We do not know this, but it is very likely. If the terrorist who left the bomb at the preschool thinks she can identify him, he will likely stop at nothing to silence her.” Marek let that sink in before adding in a low voice, “There are guards protecting her, but I...I slept in her room last night because I could not stay away. Because I had to protect her myself. I will do the same every night until she regains consciousness. Until she personally rejects my protection. Can you understand this?”
“I understand.” A tiny smile flickered over Carly’s lips and spread to her eyes. “I understand something else, too. You really do love her.”
It wasn’t a question, but Marek answered anyway. “But of course.”
“There’s no ‘of course’ about it.”
Marek shook his head. “To know Tahra is to love her,” he said simply. “I had no choice.”
“There is always a choice,” she insisted.
“Not with Tahra.”
* * *
Tahra was tired of swimming through the murky waters of her memories. She swam and swam, but no matter how hard she tried there was something just out of reach. It was important—she knew it was important—but her head ached dreadfully whenever she tried to force herself to remember.
Giving up for now, she latched onto the memory of her sister, so fresh and crisp in her mind. There was Carly at Tahra’s high school graduation. So proud. So happy. Tahra hadn’t known it at the time, but Carly had passed on an exclusive interview to be there for her little sister. Carly had done something similar when Tahra had graduated from college. “Don’t sweat it,” Carly had told her. “You’re more important than the senior commander of the US forces in Afghanistan.” Tahra hadn’t really believed it, but it had made her love Carly even more...if that were at all possible.
Love. That was it. The thing she couldn’t remember had something to do with love. Not the love of sisters for each other, but someone else. And though she couldn’t remember the details, she knew one thing for sure. Whatever it was—whoever it was—she’d wept bitter tears. Then she’d picked up the shattered remnants of her life and forged ahead. Just like Carly.
The room was shrouded in darkness when Tahra groggily opened her eyes. She didn’t know where she was—this wasn’t her bedroom in the quaint apartment she’d just moved into a half mile away from her job at the US embassy. She liked her new apartment better than her old one, even if it was farther away from work. And she liked her new boss, too, a lot more than her old one. She hadn’t worked for Alec Jones very long—less than a week. And he wasn’t an easy man to work for unless you were a perfectionist like him—which she was. The previous regional security officer had done a slipshod job, in Tahra’s estimation, and she’d been glad when Alec had replaced him with almost no notice.
Tahra gave herself a little mental shake as she suddenly realized she’d allowed her thoughts to wander. Where am I? she wondered now. She wasn’t in her bedroom. She wasn’t in her bed. Where am I?
She blinked at the darkness and turned her head, then caught her breath at the pain that throbbed behind her eyes when the side of her head touched the pillow.
She hadn’t realized there was anyone else in the room, but someone had heard her gasp, because a dim light over the bed was suddenly switched on and adjusted so it wasn’t shining directly into her eyes. A strong hand curved beneath her neck and lifted her head, turning it until the damaged area was no longer in contact with anything.
Tahra sighed with thankfulness and smiled up at the stranger at her bedside. Then her eyes widened because this man was so handsome he took her breath away. His close-cropped golden-brown hair and deep blue eyes adorned a face that—even without a smile—could have been the model for Adonis. Her heart skipped a beat, and she blinked. Then her gaze took in all the equipment surrounding her bed, some of it faintly beeping. The IV connected to the back of her left hand. The cast on her right wrist. And though she didn’t remember coming here, she felt she was on solid ground asking, “Am I in the hospital?”
“Yes.” There was just the slightest trace of an accent to this man’s English, and it seemed familiar somehow.
She frowned. “I could have sworn I heard Carly talking earlier, but—”
“Your sister was here. She left around midnight.” He darted a glance at his watch. “That was almost three hours ago. She will return in the morning.”
“Oh.” So she hadn’t imagined it. “I’m in Zakhar, right?”
“Yes, Tahra.” The back of his hand brushed her cheek in a way that seemed too intimate for a doctor or nurse, and she shrank away from it.
“Please don’t,” she whispered. She’d once let a man touch her this way without voicing an objection, not wanting to cause a public scene. That had eventually led to a nightmare she’d only recently recovered from, and she’d learned a hard lesson about speaking up for herself. “I don’t know you, and I—”
The stranger froze. “You do not know me?”
