Epilogue
“You remembered the little paper umbrella.”
“Your wish, my command.” He’d promised her white sandy beaches, Ian thought, as he covered Marley’s lips with his. He let his fingers dance down the bare, sun-warmed skin of her back, and wondered how much effort it would take to charm her out of her bikini.
The ringing of the sat phone put a damper on that plan. He broke off with a curse. “We could ignore it. We were out swimming. Or otherwise…occupied.”
She laughed. “I’ll take you up on that later. We promised we’d answer in case they uncovered evidence that the Council didn’t buy our deaths. And really, I don’t want my father showing up here to interrupt our vacation. You know he would.”
“Point taken.”
Ian watched her walk inside, gaze lingering on the three rows of scars scoring her calf as she answered the phone, greeted the caller with a laugh. They were the only thing left of her ordeal. No limp, no other permanent damage. A whole different type of mark to show she belonged to Harm. That he wasn’t letting her go. She had family now, and she’d embraced it. He wished he could settle in to life in Clementine as easily. But he was restless, twitchy. Marley called it mission sickness, said it would fade. Ian wasn’t so sure.
Once a soldier.
“He’s fine. No trace of infection. No scarring.” Marley stepped back out onto the veranda. “No I’m looking at his back right now. Hang on, let me put you on speaker.” She punched a button. “You talk to him.”
“Ian, how are you feeling?” Thane’s voice was a tinny echo out of the speaker.
“Fine. As Marley said, everything has healed up fine. Nary a twinge.”
“Remarkable,” Thane muttered. “Those were third degree burns. Even you should’ve been healing for weeks.”
The recall spell had taken longer to kick in than Ian had anticipated, and he hadn’t made it out of the building unscathed. But he’d survived.
“I could make a snarky remark about the power of lurve, but I’ll restrain myself.” Laughter laced the edge of Marley’s voice.
“I have a theory about that, actually.”
“Oh yeah?” asked Ian.
“There’s some compelling scientific evidence that positive emotion actually fundamentally alters the biochemicals in the body. They, in turn, alter the ways your DNA gets expressed within your cells. There’s this whole big long chain of biological reactions that has to do with health and resilience—fascinating stuff. It’s human science, but given your accelerated physiology, there’s no reason to think that the same wouldn’t apply to you on an exponential scale. So your connection to Marley, the relatively stable and permanent link to her positive regard for you, actually impacts your levels of oxytocin and your vagus nerve—”
There was a scuffling noise, followed by a new voice on the phone. “Give me that. You can geek out over your theories when they get back. Let me talk to my daughter.”
Marley chuckled. “Hey, Dad.”
“How’s the vacation?”
“It’s good. Barely started yet. Is anything wrong?”
“No, no. Ears to the ground still don’t detect any rumblings that you and Ian didn’t perish in the bombing. The IED investigation is winding up. No word on who’s actually taking the credit, but someone is, which takes the heat off of us. Everything went according to plan.”
“Good. Oh, I left my drink inside. Here.” Marley passed him the phone.
“Just as well. Take me off speaker. I wanted to talk to you.”
A vague sense of apprehension began to gnaw as Ian did so. “What?”
“You’re a soldier.”
“Yes,” Ian agreed, wondering where Harm was going with this.
“You’re bored in Clementine.”
He didn’t hesitate. It would be senseless to deny it. “Yes.”
“I’ve got a proposition that might help with that.”