Page 83 of Fatal Mistake
His team wouldn’t ever leave a car vulnerable, so the ignition didn’t hold keys. Which meant she would have to hot-wire the SUV. A skill she’d most likely learned from ISIS.
Cal gave her a few moments and then peeked into the rear window. She was bent over the wheel and wouldn’t notice his approach. He crept along the side of the vehicle and swung his rifle into the driver’s space, planting the barrel against her head.
“Hello, Sarra Yasin,” he said, and hoped he was right. “So nice of you to drop in.”
Chapter 24
Fairfax, Virginia
Saturday, August 6
9:15 p.m.
Tara strode across the safe house deck and back again, her footsteps following the same path they’d taken for the last few hours. She stopped to glance at the moon hanging in the distance. Crickets chirped from the lush garden beds surrounding the yard and the sweet smell of lavender from lovely purple blooms perfumed the air. All in all a peaceful and tranquil location. Except it wasn’t. Not since Cal called that afternoon telling her he was on his way back, and when she’d asked for details of his trip, he’d been cryptic and terse.
She’d come to know him well enough to recognize the strife in his voice and the underlying unease and anxiety. If big, brawny Cal Riggins with his SEAL savvy and confidence was anxious…she should be worried, too. Which she was. Even more so because he was late and she feared something terrible had delayed him.
Maybe it was related to Oren’s journals. He’d taken copies on the plane and could have found something horrific that he’d needed to track down. Or had another bomb been detonated since she’d learned of the last one? Did the team discover something in Oregon? Would he even tell her what was bothering him?
“Stop, just stop,” she muttered, and searched the garden for peace.
Father, please keep him safe, she prayed as she’d done since his departure yesterday. She and God weren’t right, but she couldn’t imagine Him not answering her prayers for other people.
She stood, gazing into the night sky, waiting for a measure of comfort, but uneasiness continued to plague her. Over Cal’s safety or her discord with God, she wasn’t sure. If only she could learn to trust again, but for some reason, she couldn’t make the transition to having confidence in God’s direction. Maybe it was her guilt over the latest lost lives. Maybe it was stubbornness or fear. No matter which, she couldn’t step over that line and trust again.
Could you if Cal’s life depended on you trusting God?
Could she?
She heard the front door open and close before Cal’s deep voice rumbled through the space announcing his arrival and saving her from having to answer her own question.
She sighed out her relief and caught sight of him as he strode through the house toward the large patio door. Raw cuts slashed across his face, his arms. He’d suffered, but God spared his life. For a moment, weariness mixed with frustration darkened his eyes, but then his gaze connected with hers and the uneasy emotions washed away. A relieved smile spread across his face, and the knot in her stomach loosened as a warm, languid feeling filled the aching pit.
He stepped outside. She followed him, then unsure how or what to do or say, she paused.
“Hi,” he said, sounding as self-conscious as a man on a first date.
“Hi,” she responded.
He eased closer, his arms lifting as if he wanted to hug her, then he dropped his arms and searched her gaze. His eyes darkened again, this time with a longing so clear it stilled her breath. He rested a hand on her arm, and her whole body went up in flames. She’d missed him. How she’d missed him. He hadn’t been gone for twenty-four hours, and she’d missed him.
In a few short days, he’d come to mean so much to her. The desire to know him better, to have him know her better, left her stunned, and she could only stand frozen in time and stare up at him.
How would she ever handle saying good-bye to this amazing man after they’d found Oren and Cal stepped out of her life?
His eyes narrowed. “Is everything okay?”
“You…the bomb,” was all she could say.
“I’m fine.”
He didn’t look fine, and she wanted to know more, but even if his whole body ached from the explosion, he was the kind of guy who wouldn’t talk about his injuries. Wouldn’t talk about much of anything.
He gestured at her sketch pad on the table. “Your drawings of the bombs?”
She picked up the pad and handed it to him.
He flipped through the book, his attention razor-sharp before he looked up. “Thank you.”
