The Spider and the Fly XX
From XIX
Helplessly, Harm saw Saddiq sit in the driver's seat and turned the engine over. The undamaged motor sprang to life with a throaty rumble. Harm was still hidden in the brushy deadfall by the water's edge a few minutes later as Saddiq and his companions powered the boat out of the small bay.
Harm waited until they were out of sight. He swam over towards the small sand bar and stood up in the waist deep water. The calf of his right leg was throbbing from the propeller cut. He watched as the remnants of the wake from the receding boat bounced off the shore. He swiped angrily at the water with the open palm of his hand. He'd been that close.
Part XX
Mac stood in front of a picture window overlooking the superintendent's elegant formal garden. A late blooming dogwood offset beautiful hedges of pink azaleas. She could see a flash of blue as a jay lit briefly on branch.
She and Webb had driven the short distance across the small lift bridge on Spa Creek to the Naval Academy on the opposite side of Annapolis Harbor after the phone call with Harm. Gibbs was waiting for them at the formal residence of the Naval Academy's Superintendent. Perched on a small rise, the colonial-style building shared a quiet campus street with the imposing stone structure of the Navy Chapel. From the window, Mac could see tourists standing in a line, waiting to visit the crypt of John Paul Jones.
Mac reluctantly turned and watched as Webb and Gibbs briefed the superintendent. The admiral was in dress whites and Mac wondered which commissioning week event they had interrupted. Whatever; she noticed that they had his full attention as Gibbs described the threat.
"Morrow has alerted Homeland Security?" the admiral asked referring to the director of NCIS.
"That is in progress as we speak, sir," said Gibbs.
"Coast Guard?"
"They have a description of the boat," Gibbs replied.
As they continued to talk, Mac turned her back on the three men and went back to the view out the window. In an effort to contain her restlessness, she planted her feet firmly astride, and grasped her hands behind her. Her mind wandered to Harm. The relentless clock in her head reminded her that it had been exactly 93 minutes since his call. What was taking so long? A boat as fast as Saddiq's would have been out of sight of Harm's vantage point within minutes. He should have reported in by now.
This was Annapolis, she reminded herself. Not Paraguay. But she couldn't shake the feeling that something was wrong.
#
The water in the small, protected inlet had returned to its calm glassy state two minutes ago. Harm stood in the waist deep water, waiting for his heart rate to return to normal. The adrenaline rush was over and he needed a new course of action.
He pulled the wet cell phone from his pant pocket and flipped it open. He pushed fruitlessly at the power button but the electronics were fried. Harm knew it would be of little use. Now what?
He could picture in his mind the exact location of the inlet. Several large creeks cut into the Broadneck Peninsula. Chandlers was on Mill Creek. The crooked bay was off of Mill Creek.
Getting help from Chandler's Restaurant seemed like an obvious option. It was just a short walk up a wooded path. However, the proximity of the stinger's hiding place to the seafood restaurant set off warning bells. Harm wanted to leave the restaurant alone until investigators had a chance to check it out.
But he also needed to find a phone fast. Saddiq and the Stinger missiles could cover a lot of ground in a boat with the horsepower of that one. Hell, even Norfolk was possible within a couple of hours. He needed to alert the authorities now. He thought back to the marine guard's car he had abandoned to pursue Saddiq on foot. It had a short wave radio.
He waded out of the water. As he stood on the sand bar, dripping, he looked down at his right leg. Harm's stomach lurched at the sight of fresh blood oozing to the surface of the ragged wound. He bent down and wiped the pond muck from the ragged edges of his torn pant leg.
He pulled his wet shirt from his body and peeled off the white undershirt beneath. Bending over, he tied the undershirt tightly around his leg over the wound. The wet fabric did little to absorb the blood but the pressure of the tourniquet would slow the flow. He straightened up, testing his weight. A stab of pain shot up his leg.
Harm was grimfaced. Ignore it for now, he thought. He moved forward, shrugging on the open shirt. Retracing his steps through the heavy brush along the shoreline he soon found his abandoned vehicle.
He needed to contact Gibbs, Mac or Webb, he thought as he radioed the base. He smiled to himself and asked the base operator to patch him through to the only cell number he knew by heart. Mac's.
As he waited to be connected to Mac he started back toward the Naval Station. The wheels of the car crunched on the gravel of the back road as he drove forward. His injured leg trembled as he strained it to push down on the accelerator.
He heard Mac's voice through the speaker of the radio. "Harm?"
"Mac, Gibbs and Webb there?" he said and then released the button on the hand held mike.
"They're right here. We're at the academy. Where are you? What happened to Saddiq?"
"I followed him. From the shoreline. I was this close to getting him, Mac."
"You're on shore. He's in a boat. How could you be close?" There was a note of suspicion in her voice. Harm smiled. He was still giving her nightmares. He knew it was perverse, but the thought that he worried her warmed him.
"He stopped on a deserted stretch of shoreline. Mac, Saddiq has two stingers. I saw them put both missiles in the boat."
There was a pause. Then, "Where's Saddiq now?"
"Headed out to the bay."
"Did he see you?" asked Mac.
Important question, thought Harm. "Oh yeah. I was in his boat at the time. My sidearm would have come in handy at that point."
There was even a longer pause. He knew the next question even before she asked it. "Harm, are you okay?"
"Mostly," he said. Well, at least he didn't lie. He was mostly okay, except, well, a five-inch section on his right leg that hurt like a mother f-----.
"Tell me where you are and I'll come and get you," she said.
"I'm on my way to the admin building at the base. Meet me there," said Harm. Now that the air show was over, it would be a quick trip for them over the re-opened academy bridge from the school to the base. And he needed their help.
He thought of something else. "Mac?"
"Yes?"
"I assume Gibbs alerted the Coast Guard about that boat. Well, tell him about the two stingers. Last seen headed out toward the open Chesapeake from a deserted inlet off of Mill Creek," he said.
He smiled again when he heard her reply. "Will do, Butch. You just make it to the Admin Building, okay?"
#
Mac and Webb entered the private hospital room where Harm was being treated. He was lying on the bed, his head propped up on a pillow. Mac's gaze first went to the heavily bandaged lower leg and then flittered across to the intravenous tubing stuck in his forearm and then finally stopped at his face. He was in the middle of a quiet, intense conversation with Gibbs, who had arrived before them. Harm had been transported to a local hospital for treatment by the base medic.
As he looked up, she could see the exhaustion behind his eyes.
She walked over to the bed and laid a soft hand on his arm. "You okay?"
"Yeah. I'll be released when this IV finishes."
"IV?"
"Antibiotics," he said. "The doctor wasn't too impressed with my swim in the Chesapeake."
"Your leg?" she asked.
He shrugged "Stitches. Through the calf muscle. I guess I won't be in the Marine Corps Marathon next week."
"Wimp," she said and she squeezed his arm. "And the Marine Corps Marathon isn't till October, squid."
Gibbs coughed once, interrupting. "I just got a call from Morrow. We're meeting 7 am tomorrow with people from Homeland Defense, the FBI terrorist response team and Coast Guard at the administration office at the Academy. They're planning an all out response for the Blue Angel's air show at 2 pm.
Mac looked at Harm. "How are you getting home?"
Gibbs paused for a minute. "Seems like we have two invalids here. Webb, why don't I drive you home? Mac, you take Harm."
The switch around of partners seemed like an odd suggestion coming from Gibbs. Mac looked at him in surprise. She found he was watching her with an unreadable expression. She felt the hint of a blush cross her face.
"Sure," she said. Something about Gibbs...
#
Harm adjusted his position on the two crutches, hopping slightly on his left leg, trying to balance himself on the uneven ground. He heaved a sigh as he watched Mac slowly unlock his abandoned Lexus and move the passenger seat back to accommodate his legs. It was dark and the busy roadway where he had parked his vehicle earlier was now deserted. He could see Gibb's red taillights receding in the distance. It had been only seven hours since the start of air show but it felt like twice that to Harm. A lot had happened.
Mac gave no indication she felt his impatience. With an expressionless face, she stepped back from the seat, bowed slightly, gestured in a sweeping motion and said, "Your seat, Mr. Rabb."
"Mr. Rabb? What, no flyboy, squid, Navy etc.?" he said wincing as he sat down.
"You quit the Navy." She helped him tuck his injured leg under the dash and waited to shut the door. "Remember? I have been thinking about nicknames. How does spyboy sound?"
She shut the door and walked around to the driver's side and got in. She started the SUV and pulled away from the edge of the road.
"Sounds more like a nickname between you and Webb." he said. There was an edge to the words, more than he intended.
She didn't answer and continued to drive.
Harm lay back and rested as they turned onto Route 50. His eyes were not quite shut as he studied Mac. Her cover was off but the rest of her uniform was completely squared away despite the rigors of a long day. She was so beautiful. His eyes ran down the tight fitting uniform, and with a twinge of guilt, he let his mind conjure an image of her breasts hidden by the marine drab color.
She looked pensive, lost in her own thoughts. Harm wondered what she was thinking as she drove along.
The day's events started to replay in his head. Maybe it was Mac's proximity but his mind started to dwell on Mac's lunch with Webb. A dockside table on a sunny day seemed like more than a strictly business lunch to him. Mac said there was a simple explanation. She had picked Webb up at the hospital and Webb needed to talk to him. Annapolis was a logical choice.
So why did it feel like someone was rubbing his face in it? Why were his hackles rising?
Seeing Mac and Webb together, no matter how innocent, was gnawing his heart. He thought by quitting JAG he would avoid this. Stupid, stupid. He realized that the reverse might actually be true. The CIA was no guarantee that he wouldn't see them. And today was a case in point.
Clay had been a sophisticated and attentive lover to numerous women. Over the years, Harm had seen him with many. It didn't take much to conjure up an image of Webb as he gently placed his hand on the small of his companion's back or draped his arm around her waist. Then he would bend over to whisper something in her ear. The woman would turn slightly to look into his eyes and smile.
The scene played clearly in his head. Only now Mac replaced the endless parade of Webb's faceless lovers.
He was starting to feel like King Arthur of the Round Table. He was watching Guinevere and Lancelot. The woman he loved and his close friend. And in the present era, Harm was now faced with the eternal Arthurian question. If he truly loved her enough, he would want her to be happy. Together with the man she loved. Without him.
The hell he would.
He must have groaned out loud because from the darkness of the car, he heard Mac's voice, "Harm, you okay?"
He started slightly but quickly regained his composure. "Tired and cramped." He closed his eyes and rolled his shoulder slightly towards her.
There was silence again in the vehicle. After a while, Mac spoke again.
"The old SecNav was at the Homeland Security Council Meeting. In some sort of official capacity. I can't remember what. So was Admiral Chegwidden. They raised the national terrorism threat level to orange," said Mac.
Harm grunted. "So I heard."
"I guess Nelson told the admiral that they better get used to doing this, if Rabb was now involved with the CIA." Mac smiled. "Chegwidden laughed. I don't think Nelson meant it as a compliment."
Harm smiled in spite of his present mood. Nelson never did like him much. "I'm sure it wasn't."
More silence, then, "Harm?"
"Yeah?"
"Are you going to participate in tomorrow's operation at the Naval Academy?" Mac turned her head slightly to glance at him quickly.
Harm guessed she already knew that answer. He looked over and grinned. "Of course. Why not?"
She put on her best school ma'am look. "Maybe the fact that you have, oh I don't know, how many stitches in your leg and you can barely stand."
"I'll be okay," he said.
"Well then, I'll see you in the morning then," she said.
He was surprised. Mac was coming? "You have no official capacity in this," he said.
"I do now. The NCIS director phoned the admiral and asked for me. My experiences in Paraguay and the fact I speak Farsi helped. "
I'll just bet it did, thought Harm. And maybe someone should give some consideration to the fact that when I found you, that madman had you strapped to a table and his henchman was about to apply glowing electrodes. What was Chegwidden thinking?
On reflex he said, "You've got to get out of this, Mac. I'm sure you could refuse."
"It's not your job to tell me what to do, Harm. I'll be okay," she said in a warning voice.
"You weren't okay in Paraguay," he continued. That was a stupid thing to say. Especially with Mac. He knew the situation in Paraguay wasn't her fault. But he couldn't stop the rising tide of panic he felt when he thought of her involved with this.
But instead of getting angry, Mac said quietly. "It's my job, Harm. Just like this is your job. I'm afraid of this guy too. But maybe the way to conquer that fear is to get him, once and for all."
Harm lay back and shut his eyes. He knew she was right. They had to get this guy. But he had given up so much to go to Paraguay. And he had done it all to get away from Saddiq and her out of danger. And now she was willingly putting herself back into risk. It was hard to accept.
He suddenly felt very tired.
8
From XIX
Helplessly, Harm saw Saddiq sit in the driver's seat and turned the engine over. The undamaged motor sprang to life with a throaty rumble. Harm was still hidden in the brushy deadfall by the water's edge a few minutes later as Saddiq and his companions powered the boat out of the small bay.
Harm waited until they were out of sight. He swam over towards the small sand bar and stood up in the waist deep water. The calf of his right leg was throbbing from the propeller cut. He watched as the remnants of the wake from the receding boat bounced off the shore. He swiped angrily at the water with the open palm of his hand. He'd been that close.
Part XX
Mac stood in front of a picture window overlooking the superintendent's elegant formal garden. A late blooming dogwood offset beautiful hedges of pink azaleas. She could see a flash of blue as a jay lit briefly on branch.
She and Webb had driven the short distance across the small lift bridge on Spa Creek to the Naval Academy on the opposite side of Annapolis Harbor after the phone call with Harm. Gibbs was waiting for them at the formal residence of the Naval Academy's Superintendent. Perched on a small rise, the colonial-style building shared a quiet campus street with the imposing stone structure of the Navy Chapel. From the window, Mac could see tourists standing in a line, waiting to visit the crypt of John Paul Jones.
Mac reluctantly turned and watched as Webb and Gibbs briefed the superintendent. The admiral was in dress whites and Mac wondered which commissioning week event they had interrupted. Whatever; she noticed that they had his full attention as Gibbs described the threat.
"Morrow has alerted Homeland Security?" the admiral asked referring to the director of NCIS.
"That is in progress as we speak, sir," said Gibbs.
"Coast Guard?"
"They have a description of the boat," Gibbs replied.
As they continued to talk, Mac turned her back on the three men and went back to the view out the window. In an effort to contain her restlessness, she planted her feet firmly astride, and grasped her hands behind her. Her mind wandered to Harm. The relentless clock in her head reminded her that it had been exactly 93 minutes since his call. What was taking so long? A boat as fast as Saddiq's would have been out of sight of Harm's vantage point within minutes. He should have reported in by now.
This was Annapolis, she reminded herself. Not Paraguay. But she couldn't shake the feeling that something was wrong.
#
The water in the small, protected inlet had returned to its calm glassy state two minutes ago. Harm stood in the waist deep water, waiting for his heart rate to return to normal. The adrenaline rush was over and he needed a new course of action.
He pulled the wet cell phone from his pant pocket and flipped it open. He pushed fruitlessly at the power button but the electronics were fried. Harm knew it would be of little use. Now what?
He could picture in his mind the exact location of the inlet. Several large creeks cut into the Broadneck Peninsula. Chandlers was on Mill Creek. The crooked bay was off of Mill Creek.
Getting help from Chandler's Restaurant seemed like an obvious option. It was just a short walk up a wooded path. However, the proximity of the stinger's hiding place to the seafood restaurant set off warning bells. Harm wanted to leave the restaurant alone until investigators had a chance to check it out.
But he also needed to find a phone fast. Saddiq and the Stinger missiles could cover a lot of ground in a boat with the horsepower of that one. Hell, even Norfolk was possible within a couple of hours. He needed to alert the authorities now. He thought back to the marine guard's car he had abandoned to pursue Saddiq on foot. It had a short wave radio.
He waded out of the water. As he stood on the sand bar, dripping, he looked down at his right leg. Harm's stomach lurched at the sight of fresh blood oozing to the surface of the ragged wound. He bent down and wiped the pond muck from the ragged edges of his torn pant leg.
He pulled his wet shirt from his body and peeled off the white undershirt beneath. Bending over, he tied the undershirt tightly around his leg over the wound. The wet fabric did little to absorb the blood but the pressure of the tourniquet would slow the flow. He straightened up, testing his weight. A stab of pain shot up his leg.
Harm was grimfaced. Ignore it for now, he thought. He moved forward, shrugging on the open shirt. Retracing his steps through the heavy brush along the shoreline he soon found his abandoned vehicle.
He needed to contact Gibbs, Mac or Webb, he thought as he radioed the base. He smiled to himself and asked the base operator to patch him through to the only cell number he knew by heart. Mac's.
As he waited to be connected to Mac he started back toward the Naval Station. The wheels of the car crunched on the gravel of the back road as he drove forward. His injured leg trembled as he strained it to push down on the accelerator.
He heard Mac's voice through the speaker of the radio. "Harm?"
"Mac, Gibbs and Webb there?" he said and then released the button on the hand held mike.
"They're right here. We're at the academy. Where are you? What happened to Saddiq?"
"I followed him. From the shoreline. I was this close to getting him, Mac."
"You're on shore. He's in a boat. How could you be close?" There was a note of suspicion in her voice. Harm smiled. He was still giving her nightmares. He knew it was perverse, but the thought that he worried her warmed him.
"He stopped on a deserted stretch of shoreline. Mac, Saddiq has two stingers. I saw them put both missiles in the boat."
There was a pause. Then, "Where's Saddiq now?"
"Headed out to the bay."
"Did he see you?" asked Mac.
Important question, thought Harm. "Oh yeah. I was in his boat at the time. My sidearm would have come in handy at that point."
There was even a longer pause. He knew the next question even before she asked it. "Harm, are you okay?"
"Mostly," he said. Well, at least he didn't lie. He was mostly okay, except, well, a five-inch section on his right leg that hurt like a mother f-----.
"Tell me where you are and I'll come and get you," she said.
"I'm on my way to the admin building at the base. Meet me there," said Harm. Now that the air show was over, it would be a quick trip for them over the re-opened academy bridge from the school to the base. And he needed their help.
He thought of something else. "Mac?"
"Yes?"
"I assume Gibbs alerted the Coast Guard about that boat. Well, tell him about the two stingers. Last seen headed out toward the open Chesapeake from a deserted inlet off of Mill Creek," he said.
He smiled again when he heard her reply. "Will do, Butch. You just make it to the Admin Building, okay?"
#
Mac and Webb entered the private hospital room where Harm was being treated. He was lying on the bed, his head propped up on a pillow. Mac's gaze first went to the heavily bandaged lower leg and then flittered across to the intravenous tubing stuck in his forearm and then finally stopped at his face. He was in the middle of a quiet, intense conversation with Gibbs, who had arrived before them. Harm had been transported to a local hospital for treatment by the base medic.
As he looked up, she could see the exhaustion behind his eyes.
She walked over to the bed and laid a soft hand on his arm. "You okay?"
"Yeah. I'll be released when this IV finishes."
"IV?"
"Antibiotics," he said. "The doctor wasn't too impressed with my swim in the Chesapeake."
"Your leg?" she asked.
He shrugged "Stitches. Through the calf muscle. I guess I won't be in the Marine Corps Marathon next week."
"Wimp," she said and she squeezed his arm. "And the Marine Corps Marathon isn't till October, squid."
Gibbs coughed once, interrupting. "I just got a call from Morrow. We're meeting 7 am tomorrow with people from Homeland Defense, the FBI terrorist response team and Coast Guard at the administration office at the Academy. They're planning an all out response for the Blue Angel's air show at 2 pm.
Mac looked at Harm. "How are you getting home?"
Gibbs paused for a minute. "Seems like we have two invalids here. Webb, why don't I drive you home? Mac, you take Harm."
The switch around of partners seemed like an odd suggestion coming from Gibbs. Mac looked at him in surprise. She found he was watching her with an unreadable expression. She felt the hint of a blush cross her face.
"Sure," she said. Something about Gibbs...
#
Harm adjusted his position on the two crutches, hopping slightly on his left leg, trying to balance himself on the uneven ground. He heaved a sigh as he watched Mac slowly unlock his abandoned Lexus and move the passenger seat back to accommodate his legs. It was dark and the busy roadway where he had parked his vehicle earlier was now deserted. He could see Gibb's red taillights receding in the distance. It had been only seven hours since the start of air show but it felt like twice that to Harm. A lot had happened.
Mac gave no indication she felt his impatience. With an expressionless face, she stepped back from the seat, bowed slightly, gestured in a sweeping motion and said, "Your seat, Mr. Rabb."
"Mr. Rabb? What, no flyboy, squid, Navy etc.?" he said wincing as he sat down.
"You quit the Navy." She helped him tuck his injured leg under the dash and waited to shut the door. "Remember? I have been thinking about nicknames. How does spyboy sound?"
She shut the door and walked around to the driver's side and got in. She started the SUV and pulled away from the edge of the road.
"Sounds more like a nickname between you and Webb." he said. There was an edge to the words, more than he intended.
She didn't answer and continued to drive.
Harm lay back and rested as they turned onto Route 50. His eyes were not quite shut as he studied Mac. Her cover was off but the rest of her uniform was completely squared away despite the rigors of a long day. She was so beautiful. His eyes ran down the tight fitting uniform, and with a twinge of guilt, he let his mind conjure an image of her breasts hidden by the marine drab color.
She looked pensive, lost in her own thoughts. Harm wondered what she was thinking as she drove along.
The day's events started to replay in his head. Maybe it was Mac's proximity but his mind started to dwell on Mac's lunch with Webb. A dockside table on a sunny day seemed like more than a strictly business lunch to him. Mac said there was a simple explanation. She had picked Webb up at the hospital and Webb needed to talk to him. Annapolis was a logical choice.
So why did it feel like someone was rubbing his face in it? Why were his hackles rising?
Seeing Mac and Webb together, no matter how innocent, was gnawing his heart. He thought by quitting JAG he would avoid this. Stupid, stupid. He realized that the reverse might actually be true. The CIA was no guarantee that he wouldn't see them. And today was a case in point.
Clay had been a sophisticated and attentive lover to numerous women. Over the years, Harm had seen him with many. It didn't take much to conjure up an image of Webb as he gently placed his hand on the small of his companion's back or draped his arm around her waist. Then he would bend over to whisper something in her ear. The woman would turn slightly to look into his eyes and smile.
The scene played clearly in his head. Only now Mac replaced the endless parade of Webb's faceless lovers.
He was starting to feel like King Arthur of the Round Table. He was watching Guinevere and Lancelot. The woman he loved and his close friend. And in the present era, Harm was now faced with the eternal Arthurian question. If he truly loved her enough, he would want her to be happy. Together with the man she loved. Without him.
The hell he would.
He must have groaned out loud because from the darkness of the car, he heard Mac's voice, "Harm, you okay?"
He started slightly but quickly regained his composure. "Tired and cramped." He closed his eyes and rolled his shoulder slightly towards her.
There was silence again in the vehicle. After a while, Mac spoke again.
"The old SecNav was at the Homeland Security Council Meeting. In some sort of official capacity. I can't remember what. So was Admiral Chegwidden. They raised the national terrorism threat level to orange," said Mac.
Harm grunted. "So I heard."
"I guess Nelson told the admiral that they better get used to doing this, if Rabb was now involved with the CIA." Mac smiled. "Chegwidden laughed. I don't think Nelson meant it as a compliment."
Harm smiled in spite of his present mood. Nelson never did like him much. "I'm sure it wasn't."
More silence, then, "Harm?"
"Yeah?"
"Are you going to participate in tomorrow's operation at the Naval Academy?" Mac turned her head slightly to glance at him quickly.
Harm guessed she already knew that answer. He looked over and grinned. "Of course. Why not?"
She put on her best school ma'am look. "Maybe the fact that you have, oh I don't know, how many stitches in your leg and you can barely stand."
"I'll be okay," he said.
"Well then, I'll see you in the morning then," she said.
He was surprised. Mac was coming? "You have no official capacity in this," he said.
"I do now. The NCIS director phoned the admiral and asked for me. My experiences in Paraguay and the fact I speak Farsi helped. "
I'll just bet it did, thought Harm. And maybe someone should give some consideration to the fact that when I found you, that madman had you strapped to a table and his henchman was about to apply glowing electrodes. What was Chegwidden thinking?
On reflex he said, "You've got to get out of this, Mac. I'm sure you could refuse."
"It's not your job to tell me what to do, Harm. I'll be okay," she said in a warning voice.
"You weren't okay in Paraguay," he continued. That was a stupid thing to say. Especially with Mac. He knew the situation in Paraguay wasn't her fault. But he couldn't stop the rising tide of panic he felt when he thought of her involved with this.
But instead of getting angry, Mac said quietly. "It's my job, Harm. Just like this is your job. I'm afraid of this guy too. But maybe the way to conquer that fear is to get him, once and for all."
Harm lay back and shut his eyes. He knew she was right. They had to get this guy. But he had given up so much to go to Paraguay. And he had done it all to get away from Saddiq and her out of danger. And now she was willingly putting herself back into risk. It was hard to accept.
He suddenly felt very tired.
8
