His feet were already moving fast to find her.
***
Amelia sat with her back against a huge wooden crate of supplies resting on top of a pallet. The far corner of the tent was dark and private, the perfect place for sobbing her ungrateful heart out.
Hugging her knees, she rocked, her face pressed into her legs to muffle her cries. She should be thankful to be alive, to have come through everything with Joshua alive. Major McCabe had even given her a personal update to let her know the raid on Jocelyn’s place had been a success. Not even a shot fired. Hugh was fine.
And her heart was shattering over relinquishing a child that had never even been hers in the first place.
The sound of footsteps startled her. She reached for her gun—only to realize she didn’t have it anymore. It had been taken from her when they returned. She shot to her feet, nerves stirring in her stomach. How could she have forgotten already what a dangerous place this was?
“Amelia?”
The sound of Hugh’s deep bass rumbled through the tent, and she sagged against the crate with relief. She just barely caught herself from sliding down to the ground again. Only pride kept her upright.
“Over here,” she called, scrubbing her wrist under her nose. Her eyes were probably swollen and her nose red, but Hugh had definitely seen her looking worse.
She heard his steps come closer as he walked through the maze of crates and pallets, finally reaching her shadowy, private corner.
Leaning a shoulder against the wooden crate, he studied her so long she resisted the urge to swipe her nose again.
“Are you okay?” he asked.
“Not really,” she answered honestly. “But I will be.”
He stroked her ponytail until it draped over her shoulder and somehow that light pressure was like a soothing massage to her achy head.
“Amelia, I am so sorry.”
“For what?” She didn’t move, just enjoyed the feel of his fingers lifting lock after lock, stroking, lightly tugging.
“I know that had to have been tough for you, passing Joshua over to his parents.”
God, she felt selfish. Hugh would never see his daughter again and here she was, weeping like someone had died. “It’s not like I won’t ever get to visit him. He’s my nephew.”
“True enough.” His fingers thrust deeper through the strands, against her scalp, freeing the confining ponytail and rubbing as he’d done when he’d washed her hair. “You were a mama bear for him these past few days.”
The warmth of his hand, the breadth of his chest, and insightfulness of his words calmed her as much as his touch.
“I had no choice, Hugh. He needed me.”
“You were—you are—amazing.” His forehead fell to rest against hers.
Her hands fell to rest on his chest, his heartbeat thumping against her palm. “I’m just so glad those other children are safe now, thanks to you.”
He’d returned to that Hotel Californiaesque hell knowingly, to help save those children. As she thought of what could have happened to him, the tears started flowing all over again.
“Oh God, Amelia, honey, it’s going to be okay now.” He pulled her against his chest, arms locking her in tight. “Everybody’s all right.”
“I know.” Although he would be staying here and she was leaving. What if something happened to him? Now, or on another mission? Life-and-death situations felt so much more real to her now. “I’m losing it here. I know that, but I can’t seem to stop the tears.”
“It’s the adrenaline letdown.” He shushed against her hair. “You don’t have to be strong anymore. Everything you held in before is coming up now.”
“Everything is just so”—she hiccupped—“so very quiet.”
“It’ll feel that way for a while.”
She rubbed her cheek against the warm cotton of his shirt, breathing in the musky scent of him, so familiar now. “Do you go through this after every mission?”