CHAPTER 11
Nolan unlocked the door to Teren’s duplex and she dutifully stepped back, as he’d trained her to do. She knew the drill now: move off to one side and let him clear the duplex for her. Nolan did just that, pulling the Glock from beneath his jacket and silently moving inside.
Teren felt an immediate shift within Nolan: he was now a focused predator on the hunt. It was quite a change from his usual approach to her, as a soft-spoken, gentle protector. In fact, his ability to handle her moods was something she’d never experienced from a man before.
Since Teren had come to Kitra, Ayman, Ameer, and Abit had treated her like a beloved adopted daughter, and for the first time in her life, Teren had been lavished with love and kindness from men. The difference between her own father and her Sudanese friends had been life-changing and eye-opening for Teren. Whether they knew it or not, they had helped her to heal too. She was no longer fearful of men because of their love, respect, and kindness toward her.
But she’d had no American friend to discuss her discoveries with until now. Nolan encouraged her to share with him, because he cared. He listened with real interest to whatever she said, unlike her family, who tended to dismiss her observations, questions, and chatter.
“It’s all clear in here,” Nolan now told her. “Come on in.”
Teren nodded and shut the door behind her, locking it and appreciating the cool air, thanks to her air conditioner. She saw that her kitchen table had been set earlier by Nolan and she smiled gratefully. “You’ve been busy.”
Nolan kept the Glock in his hand as he moved toward his duplex. “A little. I’ll be right back.”
A new sense of peace descended on Teren as she went to her bedroom and changed into a pair of comfortable blue terry-cloth shorts and a sleeveless white cotton tank top. She removed her tortoiseshell comb, her hair tumbled down, and she brushed it until it had a soft, burnished look in her dresser mirror. Nolan had asked her to keep the curtains closed over the locked windows in every room, and she missed the light but understood his reasoning. Threading strong, clean strands between her fingers, she glanced at herself in the mirror. No longer was she as pale-looking as when she got today’s difficult news and the shadows had dissolved from beneath her eyes. There was a hue of pink across her cheeks, and she knew it was because of Nolan’s concern and caring toward her.
Sighing, Teren frowned, slipping on her sandals. It wouldn’t last. Even if this crisis was settled, Nolan would have to leave her for another assignment somewhere else in the world. And then she’d be without him in her life. She tried not to consider that scenario. The question was: how could she withhold her feelings for him? Teren didn’t think it was possible. Every day the longing for this man grew within her, taking root in her wounded, wary heart, healing her pain from the past. Nolan had given her hope—unlike the men she’d known before. He was one of a kind.
Pensive, Teren walked out into her kitchen and saw Nolan enter her home. Like her, he’d changed, wearing a pair of jeans and a muscle shirt that showed off his impressive upper body. She tried not to stare at him, but maybe she’d become a female cheetah in heat, just as her women friends had described would happen when she met the ‘right’ man.
Her body felt a power surge whenever he was close to her. Teren was amazed that one human being could sexually influence another so profoundly.
Nolan walked over to the stove, where he had placed a small pot with a lid on it. “I made us a small salad,” he told her, pointing toward the refrigerator. “And I got lucky. Nafeesa was in the middle of making chicken broth for a Sudanese soup and I persuaded her to make you some chicken noodle soup. I figured that was pretty light and might sit well in your stomach.” He took the lid off and the steam rose, spicy and fragrant.
“That sounds perfect, Nolan. Thank you. I’ll have to thank Nafeesa tomorrow morning. I’m sure American chicken soup wasn’t something she was used to making.” She opened the refrigerator and saw two small salad bowls wrapped in plastic. She appreciated that Nolan had sealed the greens to keep them fresh. The man didn’t miss a thing.
Nolan chuckled a little, stirring the soup with a wooden spoon. “I told her and she gathered all the ingredients and then made it for you.”
“Did she taste the final product? How did she like it?”
“Yeah, she did. She’d never thought about putting egg noodles into a soup before and really liked the idea. I think she might make a huge pot of it for lunch someday soon for everyone to try.”
“We’re Americanizing them, Nolan,” Teren said, smiling, as she took the plastic wrap off the salads and set them on the table.
“Why not? The world’s global now. There’s bound to be cross-pollination between cultures.”
“You probably know that better than most,” Teren said. She walked over and retrieved two soup bowls from the cupboard. There was something special about doing something as simple as preparing a meal with Nolan. Unexpected, but wonderful. She tucked her reaction away, knowing that if she survived this possible attack, Nolan would one day walk out of her life, never to be seen or heard from again. That was the realist side of herself. Her heart, on the other hand, wanted to believe that when he talked about having her in his life, he meant long-term. The two realities just didn’t mix and she knew it. Still, her silly heart wanted to pursue the burgeoning relationship with Nolan.
“In a way,” he said. He took the soup ladle as Teren held the first bowl in front of him to be filled.
“Can you tell me what you did in the Army?” Teren asked, curious to know about his background.
He slowly filled the bowl, not wanting to splash her with the hot, steaming soup. “I can give you some information, but everything I did was top secret, so I can’t say much about most of it.”
“Tell me what you can, okay?” She set the bright orange bowl on the counter, picking up the other one.
Nolan slid her a quick look. Teren was so close to him, her arm almost touching his from time to time. She invited intimacy.
“Why do you want to know?” he asked her lightly, filling the bowl.
“Because I want to know you.” She smiled a little and took the bowl to the table, then came back for the second one.
“It’s a good enough reason,” he said, placing the lid on the pan and setting it off to one side. Nafeesa had given him several round kissra bread loaves, and he brought the plate of them over with him. Nolan held a chair out for Teren, and she gave him a glance.
“I could get used to this. You’re spoiling me, Nolan.”
“My parents taught me to always be a gentleman,” he teased.
She sat down at his elbow. Nolan knew he would never tire of watching how Teren moved. There was such innate grace in her.
She broke off a crust of kissra and dipped it into her soup, giving him a curious look. “Okay, I’ll ask you questions and since you’re top secret, you can choose which you’ll answer. Was your father in the Army?”
“He was, for four years. Worked in the intelligence section at the Pentagon. Then he got out and went to work for the CIA as a case officer. His cover was that he was a businessman who owned an import-export business. He did all his undercover work here in Africa.” He sipped the chicken-laden soup, hungry. Teren ate more slowly and with delicacy.
Her eyes grew shadowed. “He was a spy, then?”
“Yes.”
“Did you know this as a child?”
Shaking his head, Nolan said, “No. All I knew was that he was gone a lot. I never knew anything more until I was seventeen, when my father died in a shootout in Africa.” He wasn’t going to tell her it was here, in Khartoum, in the slums. Coming back here had brought up a lot of grief and loss for Nolan. Even his mother hadn’t known where her husband had died. He’d found out through back channels when he was in Delta Force.
Teren reached out, sliding her hand across his arm. “I’m so sorry, Nolan. That’s awful.”
“Thanks. I didn’t see him a whole lot as a child, Teren. I lived with my Irish mother in McLean, Virginia. He was usually gone nine months out of every year and we didn’t know he worked for the Company until after he died. It was a helluva shock for both of us.”
“I can’t even begin to imagine,” Teren said sadly, removing her hand. She’d seen his eyes darken when she’d reached out and made contact with him. Teren liked touching Nolan. It sent pleasure through her, fed her. “You were seventeen at the time. What did your mother do after she lost your father?”
“My mother, Aislin, was born in the Galway Bay area of Ireland and I have dual citizenship in America and Ireland. She needed to go home, because she missed her country and relatives so much. She waited until I graduated before putting the house on the market. There was nothing left for her in the U.S. I was going off to the Army. For her, it was an easy and right decision, and I supported her in moving back to her home country during my summer vacation. All our relatives from her side of the family live there.”
“And what did you do?” she asked, savoring the rich, warm chicken broth.
He smiled a little. “I went with her. I wasn’t entering the Army until the fall of that year. We flew into Killarney. I was already very familiar with her hometown. She’d never sold her family’s house that was on the bay, so we had a home to go to.”
“Is she a woman of the land or the sea?”
Nolan liked Teren’s interest in his mother’s background, even though she didn’t know her. “She’s a creature of the sea and a very famous landscape artist. She’s painted beautiful seascapes of the Galway area. In fact,” he said, “you remind me of my mother in some respects.”
She smiled shyly. “I’m not a painter, Nolan. I can barely draw a circle.”
He chuckled. “No, I mean emotionally. My mother is like the ocean. She has her moods and she’s very sensitive, like you. She had always had respiratory issues and she didn’t like living in McLean because of the pollution. She yearned for the clean salt air of Galway Bay. When she was upset about something, she loved to walk on the rocky beach and let the ocean soothe her. I used to go along with her and skip flat rocks into the water.” Those were fond memories for Nolan.
“I’m afraid my kind of ‘sensitive’ isn’t as good as hers is.” It seemed that her stomach was accepting the food and she found herself much hungrier than she had expected.
“What do you mean?” Nolan saw a shadow cross her eyes. He’d hoped that if he opened up to Teren, she’d reciprocate. Normally, he never talked of anything personal with a PSD.
Giving an embarrassed shrug, Teren said, “I’m sensitive to violence or blood of any kind. And really, it’s not very nice table talk.”
He studied her for a moment. “Physically sensitive?” He saw her mouth turn down. “As in a sensitive stomach that you mentioned earlier?”
“Yes.”
“My mother,” he admitted ruefully, “is built the same way. In fact, her side of the family has that very same gene.”
“Oh,” she groaned, closing her eyes for a moment. “We really are more alike than I’d originally thought.”
“Just because you don’t paint doesn’t mean you aren’t an artist. I was looking at your store website for Kitra and there’s a lot of detail and imaginative imagery in the web pages you’ve built, Teren. You’re just a different kind of artist who doesn’t use brushes, but instead uses pixels.” He smiled kindly over at her. “I think you and my mother share a lot more in common than you know.”
“Does she love children?”
“Very much. I was an only child, but there’s an orphanage near her home, and she makes a point of going over every Wednesday to teach the children a class in drawing and art. They love her. She’s very much a toucher, like you.”
“That’s amazing,” Teren said, shaking her head. “Sounds as if you get along well with her.”
“We’re very close,” Nolan said. “That’s how I knew I’d get along with you. You’re an easy keeper compared to some PSDs I’ve had to herd around.” He smiled wickedly over at her.
Her lips moved into a curve as she continued to sip at the soup. “Well, once I understood what you wanted from me, I found it easy to get along with you, too.”
“Good. We need to become a well-oiled machine so I can keep you safe.”
She sobered, feeling her stomach clench a little. “For a moment,” she whispered, “I forgot about all of that.”
“Then let’s keep talking. Tell me about your family and those three big, overbearing brothers of yours.”
“Ugh, it doesn’t have a happy ending, Nolan.” Teren pushed the bowl gently aside, picking at the kissra bread, nibbling distractedly on it. At least she’d eaten ninety percent of the huge bowl of soup.
“I want to know,” he coaxed her, holding her uncertain stare. And then he added, “Because I care about you, Teren. This isn’t idle chitchat between us. I want to get to know you, the person. Not as the PSD.”
His roughened tone, the emotion banked in his voice, pulled open that dark box Teren hid so deep within herself. “Well,” she muttered, “it’s not a pretty story.”
“And yet,” he murmured, “you’ve turned out to be one of the most beautiful and caring women I’ve ever met. And if it wasn’t because of what your family instilled in you, Teren, then it was born inside of you. My mother always says that every person is like an oyster, but some special people are born with a pearl inside that oyster. You’re one of those people in my book.”
His gentle look convinced her she could open up a bit more with him. “That’s a wonderful analogy. Your mom even thinks in images.”
“So do you.” He finished off his soup and pushed the bowl aside. “Tell me about yourself. Where did you grow up?”
“Well, it’s probably all there in my file. I was born in Somerset, Kentucky. It’s near Daniel Boone National Forest. My father, Alex, is a dairy farmer. My mother, Annie, is a world-class seamstress. We’ve had our farm in the family for a hundred fifty years. My mom had three boys first; I was the last to arrive. Everyone treated me like I was a brainless, helpless, stupid little girl who was always underfoot.”
“I started to learn about dairy farming when I was eight years old. I wanted to help my father in the barns while the cows were being milked. But he said no, that it was a man’s work, not a woman’s work. I was disappointed, because I loved being outdoors and always have.”
“I know you like to ride horses,” Nolan said, pulling apart another piece of kissra bread. “What else did you do? I have this vision of you running barefoot, a young, wild little girl untamed by the world.” He smiled a little.
Snorting, Teren said, “Hardly wild, although I wanted to be. My parents are very, very strict, very religious, and highly conservative.”
“And you were the only girl in the family,” Nolan murmured, beginning to see a broader picture of Teren. He could see hurt, frustration, and unhappiness in her eyes and voice as she spoke more personally about her family.
“Yes. My parents treated me as a problem because I was a girl. The boys could go out and help my father. They were big, brawny, and strong like him.”
“And your mother? Do you have a close tie with her?”
Looking away, Teren said, “Not hardly.” She laid the bread aside, her stomach tightening as she studied Nolan. His care drenched her, and she saw genuine empathy in his eyes. “She’s an incredible seamstress. People know she’s an artist with thread and fabric, and she gets paid well for what she does.”
“Unfortunately,” she continued, “only she can do it. She can’t hire others to do what she does. So, she didn’t need a whiny little girl always coming into her sewing room needing something from her. I also think she was tired of being a mother, if you want the truth. She raised three boys ahead of me. Plus, I know the sewing gave her a good feeling and a sense of confidence. She was earning good money and got a lot of well-deserved praise. It made her feel valued.”
“And you felt like a mere addendum to your parents?”
Nolan had spoken the words gently, but it still hurt to hear them. Rubbing her forehead, she rasped, “Yes. Exactly.”
“Did that give you a kind of freedom from them, though?”
“It did,” Teren agreed, taking in a deep breath and releasing it. “I learned to take care of myself from a very early age, for the most part. I knew when Mom had that door to the sewing room closed, I wasn’t to disturb her. I loved the Apple computer in my brother Ted’s room and spent hours on it. And I learned a lot from him, because he wrote software and taught me how to do it.”
“But then you went outdoors to ride your horse?”
She smiled fondly, resting her chin against her hands. “Yes. Domino, my black-and-white pinto gelding, and I would spend half a day running around on my father’s thousand-acre farm. I had special places we’d go. A stream to sit and dream by. A small hill where I could lie with my back on the grass and watch the clouds shift into animals, birds, or other shapes. From the time it was warm enough in the spring until late fall when it got too cold, I’d go riding nearly every day. It got me out of the house. Mom was always in a better mood when I got back, just in time for dinner. If I was early, I’d go to my room and do my homework. If I finished that early, I’d go to Ted’s room and be on the computer.”
“Because that way you weren’t underfoot?”
Wearily, she said, “Yes.”
“I’m sorry, Teren.” Nolan could see why she often felt underappreciated. In a way, Teren had been abandoned by both parents. It probably wasn’t done on purpose, but it had happened, and she’d gotten the message loud and clear from an early age. It was hard to have four kids to clothe and feed, and Nolan was pretty sure the family wasn’t wealthy by any measure. They worked hard every day, seven days a week, to keep the farm. They just didn’t have the time to be doting parents to their children.
“So? Did you have friends you could hang out with and confide in?”
She cut him a glance. “I couldn’t have a boyfriend. My brothers made sure of that. And my girlfriends were few, because my brothers were very judgmental about them. If my friends weren’t religious, if they wore clothes that were too suggestive or sexy-looking…you know the routine. I wasn’t allowed to have friendships with them.”
“A few friends?”
“Two. They were a lifeline for me,” Teren admitted.
“Did you do girl things together like sleepovers?”
“Are you kidding me? My parents didn’t think the parents of my two friends were good enough for me. They didn’t go to church; therefore, they were going to hell. And I sure wasn’t going to invite them to a sleepover at my place. My parents were harshly judgmental.”
He nodded and clasped his hands. “Sounds like the Sharia law practiced over here in Sudan came to Kentucky,” Nolan said lightly, trying to lift her spirits. There were eighteen years of hurt lingering in her eyes and it was there for him to see. He ached for Teren. He could imagine her spindly legs, so long for the rest of her slender body, as she rode her horse, lonely, without many friends. Nolan was sure her horse became her best friend, and she probably talked to that gelding all the time. The horse was a lifesaver for a lonely little girl.
Managing a short laugh, Teren sat back, rubbing her hands down her shorts. “Yeah, it was the same kind of prison that women get put into over here in Sudan, no question. I had something similar, only it came in the form of my parents’ strict belief system and my hardheaded brothers. They all called me ‘Rebel.’ And it wasn’t said nicely. It wasn’t a nickname—more like a curse. Not that any of them cursed…”
“I can imagine you as a rebel,” he laughed. “I like you being independent, Teren. It suits you. I’m glad you stayed who you are, because look what you’ve accomplished over here for the seven years you’ve been at Kitra. Look at how many lives were improved. You should be proud of your accomplishments. Not many people could do what you’ve done for so many.”
“Now you sound like Farida and Hadii,” she said, smiling warmly over at him. “It’s nice to be wanted, Nolan. To be respected, not considered an outcast or weirdly different.” Right now, Teren wanted desperately to tell him what had happened to her. Instinctively, she knew Nolan wouldn’t judge her as everyone else had. Swallowing, she thought she’d said enough for one day. “Besides,” she added, “I wasn’t always a good girl. I gave my parents a lot of grief too.” It hurt to even think of admitting they called her a “bad girl.”
Nolan shook his head. “Every teenager does that to their parents.” He smiled.
She stood, gathering up the bowls and flatware. “No, I made a horrible mistake one time and it…well…it tore my whole family apart. And as a result, things just haven’t been the same between us since.” She turned away, seeing his eyes narrow instantly, as if he were sensing what she hadn’t said. That scared her. Teren wasn’t ready to go there. At least not yet.
Placing the bowls in the sink, she washed them out, feeling nervous, worried that with Nolan’s ability to see beneath her surface, he might suspect what had happened to her. It was such an ugly, dark, seething secret that Teren wished she could get rid of it, but she knew it would never go away.
She felt Nolan come up behind her, his hands lightly cupping her shoulders. She nearly dropped the bowl and stood there, waiting.
“Whatever it is that you’re carrying, Teren…” Nolan’s voice was low and gruff.
“Yes?” Her voice was barely above a whisper, hands hovering paralyzed over the bowls in the sink. His fingers caressed her shoulders and upper arms, soothing her as a parent might soothe a fractious child.
“There isn’t one of us that doesn’t lug around that kind of baggage. Try to look at it in another way, okay? You did the best you could under the circumstances. None of us is all-knowing and you’re carrying something pretty devastating deep inside you. I don’t know what it is, Teren, but I can feel what it’s doing to you. I wish I knew how to make it better for you. I know the situation we’re in right now isn’t helping, either.”
She felt her heart burst with such passion for this man that she closed her eyes, her hands still resting over the wet bowls. Nolan’s sincerity overcame all the resistance from her fractured soul. She breathed in the acceptance that vibrated from him and prayed that his words would help her heal from the worst decision she’d made in her life. Slowly opening her eyes, pain in her tone, she managed to choke out, “I want to believe you, Nolan. I really do.”
“That’s a start, sweetheart.” He moved his hand across her hair, taming a few strands into place along her shoulder. “It’s just a sense, but after talking with you, I get the feeling that you’ve never really found a home where you were honestly loved for who you were until you got here to Kitra. Is that true?”
Her throat constricted and she moved away, lifting a towel hanging on a hook off the cupboard near the sink. Nolan stepped back, giving her room. Turning, she saw his expression was one of deep regret for her.
“That’s true,” she admitted, her voice sounding broken, too many feelings surging through her. “After what happened, I ran away from my family, Nolan. I graduated from the community college and then left. Too many people were judging me, blaming me for what happened. I was too young, incredibly naive, and didn’t know…” Teren sighed raggedly and set the towel on the counter, wrapping her arms around herself, something she always did when she needed comfort and holding.
“I’m sorry your family wasn’t there to support you,” he said heavily.
“They were, for part of it,” Teren said, not wanting him to think her family were unfeeling monsters, because they weren’t. “They did help me for a while, and I rebounded.” She shrugged, resting her hips against the counter. “In the end I couldn’t handle the town’s ongoing judgment of me. They all knew what happened, so I had to leave to make a fresh start for myself.”
“I know I don’t know the story of what happened to you, Teren, but like I said, we all go through some really bad times. And you have to try to forgive yourself, tell yourself you did the best you could at that time, and let it go.”
Nolan’s mouth flattened and he drew in a deep breath. “I was married once. I swore I wouldn’t marry while I was a Delta operator, because I’d be gone so much of the time on undercover assignments.” He gave her a slight smile. “But meeting Linda made me forget everything I said I was going to do, and we got married. We settled in McLean, Virginia, where I was based. She got pregnant just before I left for another assignment to Sudan.” His voice lowered as the scenario began to replay itself. “I was six months into the assignment when I got ordered back to the U.S. by my handler—there was a home emergency. They wouldn’t tell me what it was, or who it concerned, and I was left in the dark.”
“When I arrived at Andrews Air Force Base, my handler was there to meet me and drove me to the county morgue. My wife had been attacked by an intruder. She fought back and he murdered her.” Moving his fingers through his short hair, he added roughly, “And the baby she was carrying died too. No one knew about the attack upon her until the next morning at nine a.m. when she didn’t show up for work. By that time, my baby daughter was dead. If…if things had been different…if help had arrived shortly after she’d died, they might have saved my daughter. But it wasn’t meant to happen.”
Teren stared in horror over at Nolan. He stood before her, his shoulders sagging, and she didn’t know what to say. Without thinking, she pushed away from the counter, taking those few steps to wrap her arms around him, crushing him against her, her head buried against the line of his hard, unyielding jaw. Anguish radiated from him—then slowly, his arms slid around her waist, holding her, clinging to her, his face buried in her hair.
Tears ran down her cheeks and she didn’t try to stop them. All along, she’d felt something so brutal, so overwhelming, living secretly within Nolan. And now she knew what it was. His quiet admission was incredibly powerful and she was grateful that he trusted her. Trusted her compassion. Her heart.
Her eyes squeezed tightly shut, Teren felt the tension in his body as they held each other. It felt as if he were clinging to a life preserver and if he released her, he would drown.