Still, like in one of those romance chick flicks, part of her kept hoping he’d burst through the customs line or shout to her across a crowded terminal, or be waiting for her in a cab, like the one she was getting into at that moment. She sighed as she slid into the empty cab to go to her empty hotel room to sleep in her empty bed.
But her heart wasn’t empty. She was still in love with Will Anderson and probably always would be. She was grateful for Heather in some regards. True, she’d totally screwed things up, but were it not for her, there would have been nothing to screw up in the first place. And even though she’d never have him for keeps, she had the memories. If only the spy had been someone other than Heather, or if she hadn’t had a heart-wrenching good reason for doing it, then she’d be with Will. She wouldn’t have had to take the fall to protect her friend.
“If only,” she said to herself on the way to her West Bank hotel. She made a promise, right then and there: no more if onlys. From now on she would have no regrets. She’d made a decision to help her friend and it was the right one. She’d do it again in a heartbeat.
…
Two weeks later, Claire had seen most of the sites near the Valley of the Kings. She’d be flying to Istanbul the next day, and honestly, she was ready to move on to a new adventure. Being alone had been good for her. People talked about soul-searching, but very few actually did it. Claire had done it, and she liked what she found.
She’d forgiven Heather, and mainly, she’d forgiven herself. She hoped that someday Will would do the same. For now, though, she looked forward to today’s excursion to the Temple of Hatshepsut—an item on her bucket list. She still had an hour before the bus, so she fired up her laptop. She smiled when a dozen or so emails loaded from Heather, who’d been message-bombing Claire every day since she left and never failed to make her laugh.
Today’s batch was different. The subject line on all of them read the same: Of interest. There was nothing in the body of the emails except a single link. She clicked the first one and was routed to an article in a local Delaware newspaper: “Anderson Auctions Company to Sponsor Restoration of Rare Pottery,” she read out loud. Since when were they in the business of restoration? She read the article to find they were funding an exhibit at a small museum in Delaware. One she’d made a donation to. There was a picture of Will with the museum curator at the bottom. It was dated the day after she fled Michael’s office.
She opened the next email and found a similar article. Will had donated money to another small museum, saving it from ruin. Again, it was one to which she’d made a small contribution.
The next five contained articles from around the same time revealing the same thing. It was as if he’d hacked into her bank account and searched out her causes.
Son of a bitch. He owned a security company. Jim was ex-CIA. They could probably do that. Her heart sped up as she opened more emails and skimmed the articles. Will’s face grinning out at her from images on the screen, dimples and all.
He said he hated being in the papers and in the limelight, yet his picture was plastered all over the place. Clearly, he’d sought out the attention. Why had he done it? He could have donated privately without calling in the papers. A chill washed through her.
It was an olive branch. Will was reaching out the only way he could. She had ordered him not to contact her or follow her. He was telling her he still believed in her. “Holy shit,” she said as she skimmed another email containing the same thing. All the stories were dated the days before she left.
She held her cursor over the last link for a moment, trying to slow her breathing. Outside the hotel, she knew life went on as usual with street noise and vendors’ calls filling the air, but the only thing she heard was her own heart beating.
She opened the link to a newspaper article from the day she flew away and read the caption out loud. “War Hero William Anderson Saves Another Life.” She skipped to the bottom of the article and gasped. It was a picture of Will with his arm around a little boy. It was Brian, Heather’s nephew. Will had pledged to underwrite his medication and cover all costs not covered by insurance once it kicked in.
He knew. And he’d started this campaign the day she left him. He’d never stopped trusting her. This was his way of proving it.
Claire yanked her phone out of her backpack and called Professor Jahi. He took the news well and told her he’d always have a spot for her if she changed her mind. Then she called her travel agent. Instead of flying to Istanbul, she’d be flying to New York tomorrow night. Hell, she’d have flown out that minute if a flight had been available. William Anderson had just trusted her with his heart. No way was this going to end in an if only.
She closed her laptop and paced from one end of her tiny hotel room to the other, hiking boots clonking on the tile floor. Sitting around until she could fly back tomorrow night would be torture. She glanced at her watch. There was still time to catch her tour bus. The Temple of Hatshepsut would be the perfect distraction.