how strong Andres’s feelings for Sara were. So he understood now that Andres was diffident about approaching Sara alone, even with so innocuous a reason, after whatever confrontation had so shaken the both of them. But perhaps, Durant thought, it was just what they needed—an impersonal topic to discuss.
“Shall I find her for you?” he asked.
Sereno was concentrating on a munitions inventory before him on the desk, and didn’t look up when he answered in a low voice, “Thank you, Vincente.”
Sara had slipped into the garden because she was getting claustrophobic in her suite. She had paced the floor all night, unable to sleep or even to rest. And now she wandered in the garden, touching a shrub here, a flower there. Trying not to think but thinking all the same.
During the long hours since she had run from him the night before, Sara had come to at least one certain realization: Whether or not she somehow came to accept Andres’s actions two years ago in allowing the terrorist group a sanctuary here, there was still the part of him she was afraid of, the darkness. And she couldn’t live with a man she feared.
“The love I have for you … is the best of me.”
If that was true … she could destroy him. Or at least destroy that part of him she loved, that charming, intense, gentle part of him. Just as she had done the previous night, she would, in her own panic, tear at him in her efforts to fight this between them, to escape him. She’d say cruel things, strike out at him. “I’ll not give my soul to the devil …” She would batter his love until it lay around them both in ruins.
“… what will I be if I lose that?”
If she killed it, then … then she’d see the worst of him.
Sara wondered, dimly and tiredly, if that was what really drove her. Did she strike out at him, tear at the gentle layers of his love, because herfear compelled her to know the worst of him before she could love without reservation?
He hadn’t shown that side of himself to her, whether consciously or not. But it was
there
. She sensed it, had glimpsed the darkness from time to time in fleeting moments. She knew it was there.
She tried to remind herself that some of the most monstrous leaders the world had known had loved passionately and even tenderly in their lives. That didn’t change them, didn’t alter what they were. So it shouldn’t matter to her that Andres loved her, that he was gentle with her.
But it
did
matter.
She had to see him clearly, had to understand everything he was. She couldn’t trust her instincts, because those instincts were in chaos. And she couldn’t run away again. There had to be an end to it, one way or another. This time it couldn’t just stop.
Yes or no; black or white; right or wrong. She had to see, to know and understand, the worst of him. There weren’t any simple answers,weren’t any easy solutions. And they could hurt each other so dreadfully.
“Pardon, Miss Marsh?”
Sara jumped in surprise, the heavily accented voice causing her to swing around. He was a young soldier with a shy smile and curiously flat back eyes, bobbing in an awkward bow.
She forced her muscles to relax. “Yes?”
“The president, miss. He asks that you come.”
She nodded, preceding him along the path he indicated. And it wasn’t until they’d nearly reached the corner of the house that Sara wondered abruptly why Andres would have summoned her to the area where the cars were kept parked—the only area at the front of the house that the perimeter guards couldn’t see.
“Wait a minute. What—”
She discovered quickly enough the unexpected strength of the young soldier. And the quickness with which he clapped a sickly sweet cloth over her nose and mouth defeated her before she even could begin to struggle. After that was only blackness.
By the time he had searched the entire garden, Colonel Durant was worried. It was unlikely that something had happened to Sara, but Durant
“Shall I find her for you?” he asked.
Sereno was concentrating on a munitions inventory before him on the desk, and didn’t look up when he answered in a low voice, “Thank you, Vincente.”
Sara had slipped into the garden because she was getting claustrophobic in her suite. She had paced the floor all night, unable to sleep or even to rest. And now she wandered in the garden, touching a shrub here, a flower there. Trying not to think but thinking all the same.
During the long hours since she had run from him the night before, Sara had come to at least one certain realization: Whether or not she somehow came to accept Andres’s actions two years ago in allowing the terrorist group a sanctuary here, there was still the part of him she was afraid of, the darkness. And she couldn’t live with a man she feared.
“The love I have for you … is the best of me.”
If that was true … she could destroy him. Or at least destroy that part of him she loved, that charming, intense, gentle part of him. Just as she had done the previous night, she would, in her own panic, tear at him in her efforts to fight this between them, to escape him. She’d say cruel things, strike out at him. “I’ll not give my soul to the devil …” She would batter his love until it lay around them both in ruins.
“… what will I be if I lose that?”
If she killed it, then … then she’d see the worst of him.
Sara wondered, dimly and tiredly, if that was what really drove her. Did she strike out at him, tear at the gentle layers of his love, because herfear compelled her to know the worst of him before she could love without reservation?
He hadn’t shown that side of himself to her, whether consciously or not. But it was
there
. She sensed it, had glimpsed the darkness from time to time in fleeting moments. She knew it was there.
She tried to remind herself that some of the most monstrous leaders the world had known had loved passionately and even tenderly in their lives. That didn’t change them, didn’t alter what they were. So it shouldn’t matter to her that Andres loved her, that he was gentle with her.
But it
did
matter.
She had to see him clearly, had to understand everything he was. She couldn’t trust her instincts, because those instincts were in chaos. And she couldn’t run away again. There had to be an end to it, one way or another. This time it couldn’t just stop.
Yes or no; black or white; right or wrong. She had to see, to know and understand, the worst of him. There weren’t any simple answers,weren’t any easy solutions. And they could hurt each other so dreadfully.
“Pardon, Miss Marsh?”
Sara jumped in surprise, the heavily accented voice causing her to swing around. He was a young soldier with a shy smile and curiously flat back eyes, bobbing in an awkward bow.
She forced her muscles to relax. “Yes?”
“The president, miss. He asks that you come.”
She nodded, preceding him along the path he indicated. And it wasn’t until they’d nearly reached the corner of the house that Sara wondered abruptly why Andres would have summoned her to the area where the cars were kept parked—the only area at the front of the house that the perimeter guards couldn’t see.
“Wait a minute. What—”
She discovered quickly enough the unexpected strength of the young soldier. And the quickness with which he clapped a sickly sweet cloth over her nose and mouth defeated her before she even could begin to struggle. After that was only blackness.
By the time he had searched the entire garden, Colonel Durant was worried. It was unlikely that something had happened to Sara, but Durant
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