Page 39 of Asher

As if she read her mind, Kelsey sat beside Marlowe and put a hand on her arm, the arm holding Alex’s son. If Alex wasn’t hurt, who was? Mark? Marlowe glanced at Libby. Not Mark or Libby’d be upset. The only other agent Marlowe could recall being in that tense meeting with Alex was… Asher. She couldn’t imagine him being hurt. Couldn’t picture it in her mind. Didn’t dare. Didn’t want Kelsey to say another word.

“No,” she whispered. Just no.

Kelsey’s mouth moved but nothing came out. She cleared her throat and finally whispered, “Sweetheart, Asher was injured when they breached Jamah’s hideout. They’re flying him to Ramstein. There are excellent surgeons there and…”

Kelsey’s lips kept moving but Marlowe was past hearing. Her brain couldn’t connect. It was stuck in playback. Asher’s been hurt... Ramstein… Excellent surgeons… Asher’s been hurt... Ramstein… Excellent surgeons…

Asher’s been hurt...

Asher’s been hurt...

Asher’s been hurt!

“H-How bad?”

“Alex didn’t say.”

“I mean, did he slip and fall?”Is he still alive?“Did he break his leg?”Or his neck?“Wh-What should I do?”

Marlowe found herself smothered by pregnant women, each of them holding her as close as they could and crying with her. There was no use resisting Libby, China, or Persia. They had a hold of her and the sensation of all those arms wrapped around her was good. Swallowing her usual need to push back, she let go. She needed this. She didn’t want to be alone. With her whole soul, she accepted what these… these friends had done on her behalf and what they offered now, parts and pieces of themselves and lots of salty tears.

“I should’ve hugged him,” she cried, the hollow in her soul aching for that one lost chance, “but I don’t do hugs.”Why don’t I? What’s wrong with me?

“You do now,” Libby whispered tenderly. “Soak it up, girlfriend.”

Marlowe managed a full breath before she leaned out of the tremendously warm huddle. Turning back to Kelsey and Judy, she asked, “Are you pregnant, too?”

Judy outright laughed but Kelsey replied, “Maybe. I never know.”

Marlowe had no idea what that meant, but she didn’t ask for clarification, and she didn’t know why she’d asked. The pregnant wives finally released her and went back to the other sofa, while she peered down at the sleeping child in her arms. A fine sheen of sweat glistened on Bradley’s forehead. He hadn’t suffocated from all that affection, and neither had she. Inhaling a deep, shuddering breath, she told these women, “I want an earpiece.”

Kelsey said, “I’ll see what I can do to make that happen.”

Marlowe nodded, her mind spinning. She was used to being on the other end of heartache, worrying about the women she’d saved, but never knowing if they’d made it safely to America. She hadn’t heard back from any of them, had come to accept that, once they were gone, they were okay. They’d had to be. There’d been no other choice. It was the only way she’d been able to move on. She had to believe they were safe, and that somehow, she would’ve known if they weren’t. She could’ve reached out to Alex for that information. She could’ve followed up. She should’ve texted. It would’ve been easy, but she hadn’t. Not once. Why not?

Marlowe told herself it was better not asking or knowing. Simpler. Easier. Less chance of heartbreak. Besides, there’d always been another “Can you find her?” text. Another woman in danger. Another woman to save. Another mission. She’d grownaccustomed to charging forward. Never looking backward. Always putting the past in the rearview as quickly as possible, to keep one step ahead of the Taliban. Scurrying for needed supplies. Staying under the radar. Sweating in one-hundred-degree summers. Freezing through wicked winters. But always, always charging hard, charging forward. Keeping on and on and on. There’d been no other choice. She’d been the only one there to help those women.

Marlowe looked down at the perfect boy in her lap. Alex’s son. Asher was somebody’s son, too. His parents loved him as much as Alex loved this boy. His dad called his mom honey. She looked at the women she’d misjudged. They loved their sons and daughters. Most mothers did.

“Umm,” she murmured, not sure of her way forward, but as always, charging nonetheless. “What makes a mom stop loving her, umm, only daughter?”

She should’ve known they’d all come to her rescue because these women were good mothers. There were tears in their eyes, and Marlowe was sure it wasn’t due to the overload of hormones in the room. Nope. True, their instincts were on hyperdrive and all that feminine energy was now aimed at her. Bowing her head to protect Bradley from being smooshed again, Marlowe let it happen again. The neglected little girl inside of her needed this hug. Craved it. Had been dying for years without it.

The moment she was back inside the TEAM wives’ huddle, Marlowe’s resolve shattered. There was no holding back. She cried for the lost little girl inside of her, and she cried for Asher. She should’ve hugged him better. Next time she saw him, she would. She surely would.

Chapter Nineteen

Asher came to in a panic, fighting for his life and suffocating. Trapped in the dark, a snake in his throat. Dying alone.Jesus. Not again. Pressure from that collapsed support beam clamped down hard on his chest. His arms were pinned. There was no way to move or fight back. No room to twist or turn. He was trapped.

“Easy,” a familiar voice rumbled close to his ear.

Alex? Thank God. No, that can’t be right. How’d he get to Somalia?

“Didn’t expect you’d wake so soon. Hold still. He’s removing the ventilator as fast as he can. Give him a minute.”

Whoever ‘he’ was. But ventilator? They didn’t use ventilators on just anyone. He must’ve died. Asher stilled, willing to trust his boss and shaking like an addict in withdrawal, but calmer now that he knew he wasn’t in Somalia. The tug in his lungs intensified until, shit, he choked. Coughed. Spit. Couldn’t fucking breathe.

“I’ve got you, Asher. Hold on. Almost done.”

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