Page 2 of The Bodyguard

Angela laced her fingers and squeezed them, hoping the pain in her hands would overpower the pain of the past. Why couldn’t she get over the whole ordeal? Hadn’t enough time passed that she could simply forget who Tran Pham even was? When was the adagetime healsgoing to kick into gear and wipe away that mysterious mental burden she couldn’t shake? “I wish you could prescribe me a magic pill or something that would fix everything.”

“You’re not broken. You’re healing.”

A pain lodged in her throat. “Broken bones heal.”

Ibrahim’s lips twitched.

“Testifying against Pham feels real,” she said. “It will hurt. He hurt me, and now I am going to hurt him.”

“He has hurt many, many people, my dear.”

“But I never saw it, and logically, I know that makes me sound selfish—”

“It’s a testament to the hold he had on you. Logic doesn’t work in abusive relationships.”

“I understand that. Logically,” she tacked on again. “But the betrayal of testifying against him feels more real than the actual threats against my life. Because I haven’t seen it. Again, logically, I know his terrorist network has made clear they won’t let me testify. But that part feels like a storybook. Like something that would happen to someone else.”

“You’re trailed by security and wearing a bulletproof vest because of Pham.”

“And I don’t need to be.” Very few people on Earth knew where Angela had disappeared to. Outside of her family, she’d put her complete trust in Titan Group, and with that came a set of rules she’d lived by easily. Stay offline, be careful of her connections in the US, and avoid travel unless it was with Sawyer. “I’m following the rules. Doing what I’m told. What’s expected of me. I’m surviving.”

“You’re treading water. Not moving. Not growing.”

“Surviving.”

Ibrahim waited for an eternity before offering a slight nod. “Self-preservation is important.”

Angela looked out the window. From her spot in the small office of a posh Abu Dhabi high-rise, she could see no way forward. She had to testify, she had to face Pham, and, eventually, she would have to find herself again—but she wasn’t there yet.

“Angela, you have to voice your thoughts if I’m going to help you walk away from Pham’s trial unscathed.”

“I’m already scathed, Ibrahim. You know that better than anyone.”

“Let’s stick with positive self-talk.” He didn’t wait for her pithy retort. “You’re working on your inside”—he gestured to his head—“as much as your physical well-being.”

“Positive self-talk,” she agreed, crossing her hand over her heart. Sarcasm and self-control were the reasons therapy wasn’t working, but she couldn’t let go of her crutches.

Ibrahim waited as though he could read her mind. He waited as though this time, she would say aloud everything she alluded to but wouldn’t verbalize. His positivity would let him continue waiting beyond the end of this session, the one after that, and the one after that. Ibrahim had the patience of a saint, and she wanted to scream.

Finally, he broke the silence. “You have so much negativity bottled in your chest.”

She almost smiled. Angela tugged at her blouse collar. “Good thing it’s well hidden behind the Kevlar.”

“Let it go, Angela,” Ibrahim said. “What do you have to lose?”

Control. Her throat constricted. If she let go and shared what she really thought, she would lose the memories from captivity that she’d labeled as good—as loving. Ibrahim would force her to label them correctly as coercive manipulation. What would she have then? The good memories, the ones she’d clung to during years of imprisonment, would disappear. She’d be lost and heartbroken like a little kid who wasn’t ready to learn the truth about Santa Claus.

“You have to name the struggle before you let it go,” Ibrahim said.

“I’ve been trying to name the struggle.” Her throat ached. “Stockholm syndrome. You won’t listen.”

“Trust me.” Ibrahim waited, holding her with an unblinking stare that tried to pry loose what needed freeing. “Trustyourself.”

The knot in her throat thickened. “I’m not struggling with the trial, how long Pham will go to prison, the threats…” Emotion choked her words. “But with the man I came to know.”

“Pham.” Ibrahim nodded once, acknowledging the single most significant source of her pain and confusion.

A tear trickled down her cheek. “He was the grandpa I never had.” Angela pulled a heart-tugging breath. “He was the only person who ever acted as though he cared for me like family.”

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