Shane looked at the notepad and reread what he had written. That's not right. He ripped the top sheet off the pad, balled it up, and added it to the increasingly full wastebasket next to his bed. With a sigh, he tossed the notepad aside. Maybe a few days and some distance from the mission would help him figure out what to write.
He leaned back against the clean hotel pillow and enjoyed the cool blast from the air conditioner. It had definitely been a good idea to stay at a decent hotel for the night instead of staying at the Riyadh air base. The night before at the base hospital had been brutally hot, and if the doctors had not insisted on keeping him there overnight for observation, he would have left as soon as they finished treating him for the dehydration.
Shane thought back on the arrival at the air base. He and Salim were spirited away by his ISA contacts almost the instant the helicopter had landed. Salim had been taken one way and Shane had been dragged into a debriefing room. The debriefing was mercifully short this time, as his contacts realized that he was in no condition to answer questions after the pistol-whipping he had received earlier in the day.
Checking the clock next to his bed, Shane saw it read nearly 6 p.m. Just over 14 hours before his flight home. Of course, he had no idea what it would be like when he returned home. It was hard to picture his life without Kayla and Eve constantly present. And things with Kim would be awkward, of course. She had seemed to forgive his drunken behavior when they talked before he left Donovan Manor, but he doubted she had forgotten that night or what he had said the day before he left.
He knew it was stupid that he could not put her relationship with Cal behind him. Wasn't that effectively what he expected Steve to do? Kayla had moved on with her life when he thought Steve was dead. Why was Shane so damn unwilling to accept that Kim had done the same?
It was only two months. She slept with Cal only two months after she thought I died. Shane knew that was his problem. How long had Kayla waited before she even kissed him? And nine months had passed and they still had not slept together. It was hard for Shane not to compare the two situations and wonder about Kim's speed at moving on. And try as he did, he could not prevent himself from wondering if he was so easily replaceable - first by Cal and then by Lawrence.
It probably didn't help that Kim moved on with two sociopaths.
A knock on the door interrupted his thoughts. Figuring it was housekeeping, Shane crossed to the door and opened it. He was surprised to see Captain Nowicki on the other side.
"Captain, what are you doing here?" Shane asked, his surprise evident. Nowicki motioned to his left, down the corridor, like he was fearful of being seen. "Oh, of course," Shane said. "Come on in." After Nowicki came in, Shane glanced down the hall, but saw nothing. He closed the door and turned to the soldier. "Is everything okay?"
"Yeah," Nowicki said, reaching into his coat pockets. "I just didn't want to return these where I could be seen." He pulled out Shane's pistols. "You left these in the cave."
Shane took the guns and said, gratefully, "You have no idea how much I appreciate this." It had been in the debriefing that Shane had realized that he had not retrieved the guns after leaving them in the pit with Salim. To someone unaccustomed to carrying a weapon regularly, it would be hard to explain how that felt. Maybe like waking up and realizing you were missing a hand.
Carrying the guns over to his lockbox, Shane said, "I'd offer you a drink, Captain, but the Saudis don't exactly endorse mini-bars." He joined in Nowicki's laugh. "I think I'm fortunate, actually. I still haven't recovered from Cyprus. By the way, how the devil did I get back to my quarters that night?"
Nowicki's laughter turned into a coughing fit. When he finally managed to recover, he said, "Trust me, Donovan, you don't want to know. Let's just say that the RAF may think twice about ever hosting another clandestine ISA mission." Before Shane could ask any questions about that, Nowicki motioned to the wastebasket. "You trying to write a novel?"
Shane's laughter died immediately, and he shook his head. Soberly, he said, "I was trying to write something to Malik's parents."
"Malik? That was your-"
"Yeah," Shane said. That was my man. "You'd think I'd done it enough times that it wouldn't be so hard to figure out what to say."
Nowicki nodded. "I know. It doesn't get any easier. Honestly, if it ever did, it's a sign that it's time to hang 'em up. But losing guys . . . That's the nature of the beast."
He's right, Shane thought. It was just hard to accept, especially when Shane kept thinking that Malik would not have died if the ISA intelligence had been better. If Shane had known Salim was being watched, he would have done the entire operation differently. And it was hard for Shane not to think that he was equally responsible; he should have spotted the surveillance from the beginning. Too late now.
With a sigh, Shane tried to set aside those thoughts. He looked back over the Nowicki. "So now that you've returned the guns - which you could have had any buck private do - how about you tell me why you decided to do it personally?"
"You got pulled out so fast yesterday, I couldn't find out if you were okay. So I tracked you down here to see how that mug of yours looks." He shrugged. "I think you could tell folks you went five rounds with Mike Tyson and they'd believe you."
He was right about that too. Just to the left of Shane's eye, a large portion of his face had turned a rather spectacular shade of purple. Not to mention the bandage covering the stitches on his forehead and another large bruise on his right cheek. Shane chuckled. "I'm okay, and my cover story is far better than that. It involves a bedouin, a camel and a herd of goats."
"Spare me," Nowicki said, holding up his hands.
"Fair enough." Shane looked at the clock again. "How about I do you one better and buy you dinner? I've heard the restaurant downstairs is pretty good. Besides, it's not even close to what I owe you for yesterday."
"It's nothing, Donovan. It's just part of the job."
"I know," Shane said. "I'd probably say the same thing, but . . . let's just say that I don't want to think of what would've happened if you didn't show up when you did." Shane had spent most of the past 24 hours trying not to think of how close he had come to joining Malik in a body bag. "The least I could do is buy you a good steak."
Nowicki grinned. "If you're buying, I'm in. It's got to be better than the chow in the officer's mess."
Ten minutes later, they found themselves at the hotel restaurant. Shane slipped the maitre d' a reasonable amount of riyal so they would let Nowicki in without a jacket and tie.
"Fancy place," Nowicki muttered. "Guess the ISA doesn't skimp."
"If you'd seen some of the places I've stayed, you'd never say that," Shane said, with a laugh, as the maitre d' led them to a booth. "No, this is on my dime." Once seated, looked around and noticed that most of the patrons looked like Westerners. Most seemed to be talking English.
"Most of the American news folks stay here," Nowicki explained. "What I'd give for one of their expense accounts."
The two men ordered their food and settled into amiable conversation. After Nowicki talked about the past month in Saudi Arabia, he asked, "So how did things get on with you and Johnson?"
"What do you mean?" Shane looked at him quizzically as he took a sip from his water glass.
"I meant about that whole situation with your ex and his wife."
Shane almost spit up the water. "I told you about that?" When Nowicki nodded, Shane said, "Oh, Lord, I must have been even more drunk than I realized."
"Well . . . it was right before you passed out." Nowicki laughed.
"That explains why I woke up the next morning with half the Scottish bagpipe brigade playing in my head." Shane shook his head. "To answer your question . . . Let's just say I've been in the middle of civil wars that were more pleasant. But they're home-" Shane stopped short as a woman approached their table.
"Captain Nowicki," she said. "I'm surprised to see you here of all places."
Nowicki and Shane both stood, and Shane took a good look at the woman. She was slim, about 5'4", with wavy brown hair that reached to just above her shoulder, and dark brown eyes that stood out against her well-tanned skin. She was wearing a tight black skirt and a low-cut, cream blouse that showed off ample cleavage.
Nowicki said, "Donovan, this is-"
"Rachel Knight." The woman cut Nowicki off as she held out a hand to Shane. "I'm from the Boston Globe."
Shane took her hand and raised it to his lips. "Charmed," he said, as he kissed the back of her hand. "It's always an honor to meet a member of the Fourth Estate. Shane Donovan."
She flashed a smile, showing brilliant white teeth, and asked, "Do you mind if I join you for a little while?"
As much as he would have liked to avoid contact with reporters, Shane knew it would look suspicious to decline since she seemed to know Nowicki. "Please," he said.
She slid into the booth next to Shane as Nowicki explained, "Miss Knight did a story on our unit a few weeks ago." To the reporter, he said, "The men were pretty pleased with it, but did you have to mention Deakins' accent? Poor guy's gonna get a complex."
Shane tried not to laugh, but he could not stifle a chuckle. Rachel looked at him with a curious gaze. "Do you know Sergeant Deakins, Mr. Donovan?"
"Not at all, Miss Knight." Shane recovered quickly. "I just thought it pretty funny considering I've received more than my fair share of comments about my accent."
"So how do you know the Captain?" she asked.
Shane fell back on a cover story. "Oh, I've been trying to convince our friend that he might find life in the private sector more lucrative. I want him to oversee my company's security."
She gave him a dubious look, then turned back to Nowicki. "Captain, my sources tell me that your unit was mobilized yesterday on a top-secret mission. Something that apparently had to do with the ISA." She said that last part with a knowing look at Shane.
"You know I can't discuss that, ma'am," Nowick said.
Rachel turned to Shane. Her dark eyes seemed to bore through him, as she studied him intensely. She obviously liked what she saw, because she smiled slightly and said, in a rather breathy voice, "And how about you, Mr. Donovan? I bet a man like you knows one or two things about undercover operations?"