Desert Dark (37 page)

Her mom stayed in town, declaring it would be best if they flew home together. She drives Nadia back to school to collect her things. The guard at the gate is expecting them; he greets Mrs. Riley by name.

“Isn't he nice,” Nadia's mom says. “How did he know me?”

Nadia shrugs. “It's a small school. Maybe Sensei told him you'd be coming.”

“I'm glad to see security is so tight. It makes me feel a little better about your being here.”

Nadia smiles at her mother as they pull into the parking lot. “Don't worry, Mom. No one gets in—or out—without permission.”

“I'll pack up your clothes. You can say your good-byes,” she offers.

Nadia limps next door to the dojo. She leans forward in the doorway as best she can, but bending over really hurts her incision. Hashimoto Sensei comes to the lobby as she's gasping her way out of the bow.

He rushes to help her straighten. “Nadia-san, today we will make an exception to the rule of etiquette.”

“It's only pain. It will either kill me or go away, right?”

He smiles. “You are off for the holidays?”

“Yes. I wanted to come by and say thank you again. For everything.”

“As soon as possible, I expect you to resume your exercise program. Do not push yourself now; you might cause internal bleeding. But if you do nothing for the next month you will find yourself at a disadvantage when you return to school, and I know how you feel about doing your best.”

“
Hai
, Sensei.” Nadia turns to leave.

“I will see you soon. Be careful.”

His warning stops her. “Be careful of what?”

He frowns. “Nadia-san, the sparrow who flies behind the hawk believes the hawk is fleeing. It is not so. Dean Wolfe is in a coma with an armed guard watching his room, but Damon-san and Professor Hayden are both missing in action. Since we have no one to question, we do not know how many others were working with them.”

Nadia nods and moves toward the door. Once more she stops and faces Sensei. “Can I ask you something?”

“No.”

She ignores him. “You said I was the second student to be shown the covert-ops room. Who was the first?”

Sensei smiles as he answers, “Albert Vincent.”

“The director of the CIA?”

“Hai.”

Nadia tries to suppress her smile. “What does
abunai
mean?”

Sensei laughs. “Ah, my password. It is a warning. It means
dangerous
, or
watch out!
”

“That seems about right.”

Nadia leaves the dojo and hobbles up the path to the dining hall, hoping to see her friends before it's time to go. She finds Alan and Libby at their regular table. It seems strange that Damon isn't with them.

Nadia suddenly remembers what Dean Wolfe told her that night. Damon refused a direct order.
He couldn't kill me
. Somehow,
she can't wrap her brain around the fact that Damon isn't really Damon. She's torn between the sadness of losing her friend and the anger accompanying her realization she never really knew him at all. Not to mention he was framing her as the double.
I guess that's bound to put a strain on any relationship
.

“Hey, guys,” she greets her friends.

“Nadia, how are you feeling?” Alan stands and pulls out a chair.

“Look at you, getting me a chair!”

“People can change. You did. You were
useless
when you got here.”

“That's more like it.” Nadia eases herself onto the seat. “Anyway, I'm okay, thanks for asking. How about you?”

He nods. “A little sore, but not too bad. Libby is taking excellent care of me.” He smiles at Libby and Nadia senses something more than gratitude.

Libby doesn't seem to notice. “Nadia, I took the liberty of stashing our textbooks in the back of my closet,” she says. “I figured your momma might come by.”

“Thanks, I didn't even think of that.”

“Listen,” Alan says. “I have been wanting to say something. When we first got here, I thought you two were dead weight. Libby, your Southern drawl makes you sound profoundly uneducated. And Nadia, where do I start? You were not good at
any
thing.”

“What is the matter with you?” Nadia asks.

Alan seems surprised by her reaction. “I am trying to say thank you.” He holds up a finger and smiles. “
I'm
trying to say thank you.”

Libby narrows her eyes. “Is that supposed to be a joke? I may be too
profoundly uneducated
to understand the delicate nuances of Yankee-talk, but let me tell
you
something: this is not gratitude.”

“I am admitting I was wrong. I
do
need you. I would not have made it out of the canyon without you. I am very glad we are on a team. This is all I'm saying.”

“Well, that was one God-awful thank you.” Libby sits back and crosses her arms.

“You want to help me out, please?” Alan asks Nadia.

“Not even a little. Oh—but here's something interesting.” Nadia glances around. “When I was in Wolfe's office, he said something to me about your grandfather. He knows.”

A look of understanding crosses Alan's face. “Oh, of course!
That
is what he was talking about.”

“Who? What?” Libby asks.

“Damon,” he whispers. “He made a big point of telling me what close friends we were after I got shot.”

“Why?” asked Libby.

“So no one would go looking for him,” Nadia says. Alan nods. She drops her voice. “Have you trained with your grandfather? That's how you learned to shoot, isn't it?”

Alan's neck turns a splotchy red. “I cannot talk about him. Please do not ask me anything.”

Libby jumps in. “That's fine. You'll tell us when you're good and ready. I accept that, because we Southerners are far more well-mannered than you New Yorkers.”

They sit in silence for a few moments. Nadia can't let it go. “It's just—I've heard amazing things about Mossad. Can you teach us anything?”

Welts appear on Alan's throat. “Nadia. Please.”

“Have you spoken to your grandfather yet? About how you feel?” she asks.

Libby changes the subject. “Think you'll be getting a new roommate?”

“I had not thought about it. It's weird, the whole thing with Damon—how someone so close to us could be so different from what he claimed to be, and we never knew.”

“It certainly is,” Libby agrees. “I mean, I'm not shocked you didn't know, but Nadia and me? I thought we were sound judges of character.”

“Thanks a lot,” Alan says.

“Sometimes the truth hurts. Hey, Nadia, Alan and I might get together over break, maybe meet in DC for New Year's Eve?” Libby pats Alan's hand. “Shall we call you?”

“No, we have to do New Year's Eve in Times Square,” Alan says.

“Honey, not everyone can make it to New York.”

“Your parents will get you a ticket.”

“I didn't mean me.” Libby's eyes flicker toward Nadia.

“Oh. Well, she does not have to come.”

“Alan. Be nice,” Libby says.

Nadia grins. Libby is walking right into this, and she has no idea. “Give me a call when you finalize your plans. Listen, you guys, I have to get going.” She pulls herself out of the chair. “I hope you both have a great holiday.” Libby stands to hug her. “It will be strange waking up without you. I'll miss you.”

“I know. Same here,” Libby says.

Nadia looks at Alan one last time. “The conversation with your grandfather is non-negotiable.”

“I understand,” Alan answers.

“We'll see you soon,” Libby says. “Tell your momma we said hi.”

On the way back to her dorm, Jack calls her name. She waits while he sprints across the lawn.

“Thank God. I've been looking all over for you.” He leans over and rests his hands on his knees, trying to catch his breath.

Her eyes widen. Maybe they've found Damon. “What's the matter?”

“Nothing—I was afraid you left without saying good-bye.” He smiles his brilliant, beautiful smile.

“I wouldn't do that.” She smiles back.

He pulls her close, gathering her in his arms. “Why'd you go to the dean's office that night? After I warned you, why didn't you run? You saved my life, you know.”

Nadia feels his heart beating through his sweater. “You would've done the same for me.”

“True enough. Am I squeezing too tight?”

She shakes her head and leans further into him. They stand for a moment in silence, Nadia enjoying the warm sun on her back.

“Nadia, when we get back from break, do you think we could start over? Maybe go on a real date? I understand if it's too soon—if you need more time. But I'd never forgive myself if I didn't ask.” He pulls away to look at her.

She thinks back to what Dean Wolfe said about Jack.
His feelings for you interfered with his job
. She smiles and says, “I'd like that.”

Jack's eyes shine as he weaves his hand through her hair. He rests his head on hers. She feels him take a deep breath, inhaling her. He looks into her eyes and then kisses her on the lips, as soft as the sun rising over the desert.

I would like to thank:

Terry, whose love and support made this writing possible.

Morgan and Elizabeth, for your comments (criticisms), encouragement (mockery) and ideas (“You're not going to say it like
that
, are you?”).

My parents: for dragging me around the world and denying me cool toys, leaving me no choice but to entertain myself with—
gasp
—my imagination and creative writing; for letting me fingerprint you when I started my own detective agency at age eight; for always speaking in complete, grammatically correct sentences. Dad: for the mushroom story idea. Mom: for copyediting my manuscript a dozen times (and telling me for decades that I should be a writer.
Okay
. I get it).

My sister, Rachel Smith, for completely ignoring me until the age of thirty. I'm certain this contributed to the building of my rich inner world. More recently, your constant cheerleading (badgering) finally paid off. It is no exaggeration to say this book would not have seen the light of day without your help.

My dear friend, Anna Kline, for teaching me not to be stingy with my words. Anna, you know my characters better than I do. Thank you for not letting me move on.

Anna and Rachel, for reading twelve thousand slightly different drafts. I am forever in your debt. Or for the next twelve months or so. (These words of gratitude in no way constitute a legally binding contract.)

Deniese Hardesty, for your faith and vision. Writing is the easy part. Thank you for helping me with everything else.

My clever and imaginative agent, Logan Garrison, and her fabulous coworkers at the Gernert Company. Logan, you really should write a book of your own.

My infinitely patient editor, Sally Morgridge, and the wonderful team at Holiday House. I apologize for my obsession with the Oxford comma.

My very talented jacket artist, Kerry Martin. You can't judge a book by its cover, but I usually do anyway. Thanks for making me look good.

My sensei, Michael Cerpok, for your teaching and guidance.

Lonna Salter, for being a fan from the start.