As I watch us plummeting to our deaths, I have only one regret.

I will never get to hold Nora again.

Part III: The Captive

Chapter 21

Nora

Two days without Julian.

I can’t believe it’s been two entire days without Julian. I’ve been going about my usual routine, but without him here, everything feels different.

Emptier. Darker.

It’s like the sun has hidden behind a cloud, leaving my world in shadow.

It’s crazy. Utterly insane. I’ve been without Julian before. When I was on the island, he would leave on these trips all the time. In fact, he spent more time off the island than on it, and somehow I still managed to function. This time around, however, I have to constantly fight off a horrible feeling of unease, of anxiety that seems to worsen with every hour.

“I really don’t know what’s wrong with me,” I tell Rosa during our morning walk. “I lived for eighteen years without him, and now all of a sudden, I can’t go for two days?”

She grins at me. “Well, of course. The two of you are all but inseparable, so this doesn’t surprise me in the least. I’ve never seen a couple this much in love before.”

I sigh, ruefully shaking my head. For all her seeming practicality, Rosa has a romantic streak as wide as the sea. A couple of weeks ago, I finally confided in her, telling her how Julian and I met and about my time on the island. She had been shocked, but not nearly as much as I would’ve been in her place. In fact, she seemed to think the whole thing was rather poetic.

“He stole you because he couldn’t live without you,” she said dreamily when I tried to explain to her why I still have reservations about Julian. “It’s like the kind of thing you read about in books or see in movies . . .” And when I stared at her, hardly able to believe my ears, she added wistfully, “I wish someone wanted me enough to steal me away.”

So yes, Rosa is definitely not the person to knock some sense into me. She thinks my withering away without Julian is a natural result of our grand love affair, instead of something that likely requires psychiatric help.

Of course, Ana is not much better either.

“It’s normal to miss your husband,” the housekeeper tells me when I can barely force myself to eat at dinner. “I’m sure Julian misses you just as much.”

“I don’t know, Ana,” I say doubtfully, pushing the rice around on my plate. “I haven’t heard from him all day. He responded to my email yesterday, but I sent him two emails today—and nothing.” This, more than anything, is what upsets me, I think. Julian either doesn’t care about the fact that I’m worried—or he’s not in a position to respond to me, being knee-deep in fighting terrorists.

Either possibility makes me queasy.

“He could be flying somewhere,” Ana says reasonably, taking my plate away. “Or be someplace with no signal. Truly, you shouldn’t worry. I know Julian, and he can take care of himself.”

“Yes, I’m sure he can, but he’s still human.” He can still be killed by a stray bullet or an untimely bomb.

“I know, Nora,” Ana says soothingly, patting my arm, and I see the same worry reflected in the depths of her brown eyes. “I know, but you can’t let yourself think bad thoughts. I’m sure you’ll hear from him in a few hours. He’ll contact you by morning at the latest.”

* * *

I sleep fitfully, waking up every couple of hours to check my email and phone. By morning, there’s still no word from Julian, and I stumble wearily out of bed, bleary-eyed but determined.

If Julian isn’t contacting me, I’m going to take matters into my own hands.

The first thing I do is hunt down Peter Sokolov. He’s talking with a few guards on the far edge of the estate when I find him, and he seems surprised when I approach him and ask to speak to him privately. Nevertheless, he accommodates my request right away.

As soon as we’re out of earshot of the others, I ask, “Have you heard from Julian?” I still find the Russian man intimidating, but he’s the only one I know who may have answers.

“No,” he responds in his accented voice. “Not since their plane took off from Moscow yesterday.” There is a hint of tension around his eyes as he speaks, and my anxiety triples as I realize that Peter is concerned too.

“They were supposed to check in, weren’t they?” I say, staring up at his exotically handsome features. My chest feels like I can’t get enough air. “Something went wrong, didn’t it?”

“We can’t assume that yet.” His tone is carefully neutral. “It’s possible they’re not responding to our calls because of security reasons—because they don’t want anyone to intercept their communications.”

“You don’t really believe that.”

“It’s unlikely,” Peter admits, his gray eyes cool on my face. “This is not the usual procedure in these types of cases.”

“Right, of course.” Doing my best to battle the nauseating fear spreading through me, I ask evenly, “So what’s Plan B? Are you going to send in a rescue team? Do you have more men standing by that can act as backup?”

Peter shakes his head. “There’s nothing to be done until we know more,” he explains. “I’ve already put out feelers in Russia and Tajikistan, so we should have a better idea of what happened soon. So far, all we know is that their plane took off from Moscow without any problems.”