TWENTY-TWO
“GAPS. Chelsea speaking.”
Just the sound of her voice coming through my cell phone had me smiling. “Hello, love.”
“Tristan.” She said my name on an exhale, but nothing else.
“Did you get my note?” I asked.
As upset with myself that I’d been stupid enough to leave it, I would be more upset if she’d never found it and thought I’d just abandoned her without a word.
“Yes.”
Hmm. Definite chill in the air. And bloody hell, if it didn’t make me start to get hard as I thought about some hot reunion sex with her angry with me for leaving.
“Good. I wanted you to know I really did have to be in New York for work. I wasn’t being a ghost.”
She laughed and I pressed the cell closer against my ear to better absorb the sound. “You ghost someone. You don’t be a ghost. It’s a verb. Not a noun.”
I pictured the smile on her face as she corrected me and was happy I’d screwed up the colloquialism since it made her laugh.
“Ah. Duly noted.” I smiled even as my heart clenched with missing her.
“Did you want to talk to Zane?” she asked.
I knew the real question behind her words. What she’d left unspoken. Had I called to talk to her?
“No,” I said, making her figure out the rest.
“You called for me?” she asked.
“Yes.” I stopped torturing her and said, “I miss you.”
There was the slightest of pauses before she said, “I miss you too.”
I drew in a breath, torn between being happy and sad.
“When will you be back?” She asked the inevitable question. The one I had no answer to at the moment.
“I’m not sure. It depends. I have to fly to London for work. If they approve my request for leave I’m hoping to be back in D.C. in a week or two.”
“Oh my God. Really? That’s so soon.”
“It is soon.” I smiled at her enthusiasm.
This wasn’t as hard as I thought it would be. I’d told her everything she needed to be satisfied. I hadn’t had to lie. I hadn’t compromised security. Maybe I could do this.
I glanced at the flight board above my head and remembered the real problem was ahead, past the time I hoped to get off, when I had to go back to work and wherever MI6 sent me.
An announcement, loud and distracting, cut through the terminal.
“Where are you?” she asked.
“JFK.”
“Oh. So you’re leaving today.”
“Yes. But the sooner I leave, the sooner I can get back.”
“That’s true.” Her tone perked up at that promise. My mood did not as the obstacle that was my profession loomed large, casting a shadow I couldn’t escape.
“I should go.”
“Will you text me when you’re away? Can you text from London?” she asked.
“Yes. I can do that . . . if you give me your number.” Funny, after all we’d been through I hadn’t gotten that yet.
“I have your number on the caller ID. I’ll send you a text from my cell and then you’ll have it.”
“Brilliant.” Quite the problem solver, my Chelsea. Maybe together we’d be able to come up with a solution to the problem of how we could be together when we were going to be so far apart. “I should go. There’s a line at security.”
“Okay.” She was quiet for a moment.
In my misery, I didn’t have the words to fill the silence because the one thing that was left to be said was goodbye and I wasn’t ready to say that yet.
“Tristan.”
“I love you.”
My breath left me in a whoosh at the words I hadn’t been expecting. Time for honesty. “I love you too.”
I heard her sniffle softly. My eyes blurred—it had to be the damn overhead lights. I turned away from them to face the wall. “I’ll talk to you again as soon as I can. Okay?”
“Yes.”
“Bye, love.”
“Bye. Safe trip.”
“Cheers.” I hit to disconnect the call and blew out a loud breath.
Turning back to face the crowd of bustling travelers in the departures terminal, I took a few seconds to get my bearings.
I glanced toward the Virgin Atlantic counter. I was booked for a standby flight home.
Home.
The word felt odd.
After two years of being in the States, except for the fact my mother and father resided there, London didn’t feel like home anymore. But neither did New York or D.C..
I was a man without a home and for possibly the first time in my adult life, I felt like I wanted one. Wanted to make a home in Virginia, with Chelsea, the woman I loved, who through some miracle loved me back.
My heart picking up speed, I turned and glanced at the other end of the terminal and read the signs. Delta. American. Jet Blue.
Any one of them would take me to Reagan National—if only I could go.
Why couldn’t I? Why fly all the way to London just to ask them if I could fly back? That could be done over the phone.
I’d completed my assignment in spite of them recalling me. Based on my information from Ivan and the miraculous coordination of multiple US and British organizations, we’d secured the list and apprehended the traitor. I hadn’t gotten to kill him, but all in all it had been a sweeping success.
Ivan was laying low for his own protection—taking a holiday in Maine with his daughter and granddaughter, if he was to be believed. The CIA was again in possession of the information that had been stolen and sold. My part in all this was done.
I navigated to the Virgin Atlantic app on my cell and hit to cancel the standby ticket.
Pocketing my phone, I grabbed the handle of my carry-on. Down the hall at the other end of the terminal I joined the queue for the Delta counter.
When it was my turn to approach the agent I said, “What’s the earliest flight you can get me on to Reagan National?”