Page 101 of Wyatt

“I want to see Coco,” Gerri said. “Take us to her, and then…well, we’ll talk about safety.”

“And I need to see Wyatt,” RJ said. “He has the information I need to give to Senator Jackson. She’s on the Armed Services Committee, Tate thinks she can clear my name.”

“How are you going to get close to her?”

“My brother Tate is engaged to her daughter. And she’s doing a rally in Seattle tomorrow.”

He let himself smile. “Yeah, that could work.”Please, let it work.“Let’s go.” He took her hand.

“We can take my truck,” said Gerri. “It’s back at the hotel.”

“No. If Gustov was watching, he might know your license plate number. We need to keep this easy—we’ll Uber it to the hospital.”

“The hospital—?” Gerri said.

“It’s…well, you’ll find out when we get there.” He started to lead them out of the stall, but RJ put her hands on his shoulders. Looked at her mother.

“Go watch the fish mongers.”

Gerri glanced at York. “Good thing I like you.” Then she winked and walked away, down the aisle.

“What—”

But RJ had turned to him, something sparking in her eyes. “You found me,” she said.

Then she kissed him.

And this kiss wasn’t the faux kiss she’d given him in the park in Moscow when trying to hide from authorities. Or even the one on the train, more of a release of the pent-up fear between them. No, she had a confidence in her touch, as if hearkening back to the RJ he saw standing under the streetlights, hoping to intercept the general, save his life. This RJ didn’t need rescuing, but frankly was reaching out to rescue him, because if it were up to him, he’d probably—well, he knew himself too well to let himself reach for her.

To let himself want her.

But crazily, she wanted him.

And he knew he shouldn’t, but he gave himself over to her, tired, for once, of holding himself back, of punishing himself for his mistakes, of believing he couldn’t have this.

A life.

The house and the family and the wife and dying happily in his bed at the age of ninety.

As she moved her arms up to play with his hair, she molded herself to him, and he just hung on.

Turned them so that he could rest his hand against the wall, use it for support as he deepened his kiss.

And sure, there were fish flying around, but he ignored them and tasted the relief, the desire, the hope she gave him.

This was worth coming back to America, regardless of the cost.

He finally leaned back from her. Touched his forehead to hers.

“Syd, what are you doing?” he whispered.

“I’m welcoming you back to America, soldier.” She pressed her hand to his heart. The one pounding through his chest.

He took her hand. “The war isn’t over yet.”

“I know. But there’s the two of us now.”

And shoot, but those words sank into his bones and lit them on fire.