From the Beginning (7 page)

They were terrifically gaudy and eye-catching, and Gabby had loved them. She’d worn them every single day for months, until she’d gotten so sick that she didn’t need shoes and all she could do was lie in bed all day. Even then, they’d sat on the nightstand, waiting for her to get better. Waiting for her to need them again.

She never had.

The familiar pain welled up inside of Amanda, but she fought it, just like she always did.

Fought against the fist squeezing her heart and the hollowness invading her stomach with every strangled breath she took.

Fought against the razor blades slicing along every nerve ending in her body.

It was a little bit harder this time than the last. That’s the way it always was. Just a fleeting thought of her beautiful, precocious daughter almost brought her to her knees.

Outside the tent, someone cleared his throat, which was as close to a knock as you could get here. She ignored it, ignored him. There was no one she wanted to talk to right now, anyway. Especially of the male gender.

But whoever it was wasn’t put off by her silence. Instead, he called her name softly before flipping the tent flap aside without waiting for an invitation. That alone told her it was Jack.

“What do you want?” She didn’t even try to sound gracious, but then, why should she? He had completely sold her out.

“To say goodbye.”

“Oh, right.” She turned her back on him. “Goodbye.”

“I didn’t have a choice, Amanda. You’re—”

“It’s fine. I get it.”

“Do you?” He reached out, put what she figured he thought was a comforting hand on her shoulder. But all it did was make her want to scream. She shrugged him off, pressing her lips together. If she started to scream now, she’d never stop.

“Don’t worry about it. I’m not your problem anymore. I’ll catch a ride into the city with the next transport. There’s one scheduled to come tomorrow, isn’t there?”

“I thought you were going back with Simon.”

Her laugh was harsh and hurt her throat. “I don’t know what gave you that idea.”

For long seconds, he didn’t answer. Then he finally said, “You
are
going back, though. To America. Right?”

“Where else would I go?”

“That’s not an answer.”

“You made it pretty clear that you’re not my boss anymore. I don’t have to tell you anything.”

“Don’t do something stupid, Amanda. This is a dangerous place for anyone, let alone a woman without protection.”

“Look, I’m not your problem any longer. And I’m sure as hell not Simon’s problem—I don’t even know why you called him.”

“He’s your—”

“He’s my nothing. Not anymore. In case you haven’t noticed, the only connection we had is long gone. Besides, this whole discussion is moot. You wanted me gone. Fine. I’m leaving. What I do after that is none of your damn business.”

She finally faced him, fixed him with the most intimidating doctor look she had. It didn’t really work—his scowl was a hell of a lot better than hers and always had been—but he did have the grace to look ashamed. Good. They’d been friends forever, and a friend wasn’t supposed to throw her to the wolves when she was at her most vulnerable.

Even worse, he’d thrown her to one particular wolf.

“You need someone to take care of you.”

“I can take care of myself.”

“Yeah, because you’ve done such a bang-up job of it so far. And I’ve let you get away with it because I was afraid of hurting you more. That’s on me. But why take the transport truck when you have Simon, and an airplane, ready to take you to the States with no hassle? The situation here is escalating. If you have an option other than the transport truck, it makes sense that you take it. Besides, you and Simon need some time to work things out.”

“There’s nothing to work out, Jack. I keep telling you that. Whatever Simon and I once had is long over. And now that Gabby’s gone, there’s nothing between us at all. I don’t have a clue why he came, but I do know that I will not be leaving with him.”

“Yeah, because wandering around Africa, purposeless, is such a good idea.”

“It’s better than wandering around Boston alone.”

“So go somewhere else. Go to California or Hawaii. Jamaica. Lie on the beach somewhere. Eat, sleep. Recuperate.”

“Sure. Why not? My daughter’s dead. Why the hell shouldn’t I take a tropical vacation? If I’m really lucky, maybe they’ll let me keep the little umbrellas from my drinks.”

“You’d rather punish yourself forever?” he demanded. “Work yourself to death? What’s that going to do? You still won’t bring her back.”

“No, but if I’m dead, at least I won’t feel the pain anymore.”

Jack blanched and she knew, right away, that she’d said the worst thing she possibly could have. She hadn’t really meant it, at least not the way Jack was taking it. She wasn’t suicidal, had always been too much of a fighter to consider that, even now, when everything was so messed up. But the oblivion provided by working twenty-hour days, week after week, month after month, was welcome. If she was tired enough, maybe she’d finally be able to stop thinking. To stop remembering.

“Don’t hate me, Mandy,” he said gently, moving closer to her.

Some sixth sense kicked in, warned her of danger. But it was too little too late. She felt a prick on her upper arm. Watched in shock as Jack emptied a syringe into her biceps.

“What are you…” Her mouth and tongue wouldn’t cooperate enough to form words. The world around her went fuzzy, and she reached a hand out, trying to keep her balance. Jack tried to steady her, but she stumbled. Would have fallen if he hadn’t caught her. And then everything went black.

SIMON WAITED THE ALLOTTED fifteen minutes, then entered the tent in time to see Jack cradling Amanda in his arms. Even though he knew the two of them were only friends and Jack was following through on the plan—at Simon’s request—something ugly welled up inside him at the sight of Amanda held so intimately by another man.

His reaction caught him by surprise. It had been years since they’d been a couple and he thought he’d sublimated any lingering romantic feelings he’d had for her. After all, the last thing he wanted to do was give her a chance to dump him again. The first time had hurt more than enough.

Besides, he should be thanking Jack instead of contemplating the best way to rip out his throat. God knew, it had been hard enough to convince him to go along with this plan to get Amanda on the plane.

“I’ll take her from here,” Simon said, slipping his hands under the woman he had loved for almost half his life. “Can you get her bags?”

“Sure.” Jack checked her vitals then pulled away completely, and the first thing Simon felt was shock. He’d carried Amanda numerous times through the years—usually in circumstances a lot more pleasant than this—and never had she felt so…insubstantial. As if she would float away any second. Or worse, as if she really wasn’t there at all.

What the hell had she been doing to herself for the past eighteen months?

And why hadn’t he known how bad off she was? Why had it taken Jack to get him to check on her? Simon had known she wasn’t okay after the funeral. He’d known that accepting Gabby’s death was going to be the hardest thing she’d ever done, especially considering how valiantly she’d fought to save their daughter.

So why hadn’t he said to hell with the story—with all of the stories? Why hadn’t he come to get her long before this?

As he berated himself, Simon strode quickly through the darkness, his boots finding easy purchase despite his unfamiliarity with the terrain. He hadn’t been to Africa in longer than he cared to admit, but his body remembered the land as though he’d last been here yesterday. Jack walked beside him, grimly silent as he carried Amanda’s backpack and suitcase.

When they got to the plane, Simon made quick work of getting Amanda buckled in. Who knew how long the sedative Jack had given her would last? He had said it would be effective long enough for Simon to get her out of the country, but Amanda was incredibly strong-willed. If anyone could pull herself out of a stupor, it was Amanda.

After making sure she was safely settled, he walked to the plane’s open door and took her backpack from Jack while the pilot stowed her suitcase down below. Then he shook the other man’s hand.

“Thank you for calling me.” He kept his voice steady through sheer will alone. “I should have been here.”

“Don’t push her too hard, Simon. She’s more delicate than either of us ever suspected.”

Though that part of him that had been jealous earlier reared its ugly head a second time—who was Jack to tell him how to treat Amanda?—Simon pushed it down. Again. He wasn’t so far gone that he didn’t realize how right the doctor was.

“I’ll take care of her.”

Jack nodded, then clapped him on the back before leaving. Simon stowed Amanda’s backpack before walking up the aisle and settling himself next to her.

In the next few minutes, the pilot finished with the pre-takeoff maneuvers. Before Simon had even registered the time passing, they were cruising down the makeshift runway, their only guide two men waving flashlights in the direction they were supposed to go.

Looking away, he pretended that risk didn’t drive the control freak inside of him completely bat-shit crazy. Hands clenched on the armrests, he glanced at Amanda as the plane finally became airborne seconds before the dirt road turned to sand. And wondered how angry she was going to be when she finally did wake up.

Angry enough to make his life a living hell for the next few days, or weeks, he figured. She knew how to hold a mean grudge, after all. Which wouldn’t matter if he was certain that he’d done the right thing so far. He only hoped his deviousness didn’t end up leaving her more damaged than she already was.

In a perfect world, he would have stuck around the camp and tried to convince her to see things his way, but their situation was far from perfect. To begin with, he was doubtful Amanda would ever trust him again. Not after what he’d done…and, more important, what he hadn’t.

And even more than that, he didn’t have the luxury of time. He’d pulled a bunch of strings and used up all his clout at the cable news agency he worked for in order to get this plane. But he hadn’t been able to swing it for more than four days. They needed to be in Atlanta two days from now—the network execs had a board meeting planned somewhere exotic and the plane could not be MIA when it came time for them to leave.

He might have run the risk of taking regular planes home—probably four at least—if he wasn’t absolutely convinced that Amanda would slip away from him in one of the airports while waiting for a connecting flight.

Admittedly, he’d thought they were going to Boston when he’d first commandeered the plane, but now that she’d sold the house, there was nothing for her there.

Pain kicked him in the stomach, hard, at the thought of someone else living in the house he had once shared with Amanda and Gabby, but he ignored it as he always did. He focused, instead, on the problem at hand. She had no friends left in Boston, really. And there was no family for either of them. Which meant they were going to Atlanta. To the apartment he’d moved into after taking the job at the network a year ago.

It wasn’t an ideal solution—his apartment was a one-bedroom, so small that twenty-five paces would take a person from one end to the other. It was perfect for him, given the amount of time he spent at home, but it would definitely be cramped with two of them.