But, ultimately, even the affection and pampering her mom and dad had showered on her couldn’t take away all the bad memories of what had happened.
She was still sleeping with the lights on in her apartment and she started at every little sound. She’d fallen back into her old routine, more or less, which was good…but a tiny part of her died inside when she didn’t hear from him. She’d expected him to be busy right when she’d gotten back home, but with every day that passed without a phone call or even an email, she’d begun to think the connection she’d felt was one-sided.
She’d been so sure they’d connected on a level she’d never felt with anyone else. He said he’d be in touch…hadn’t he? She doubted the possibility more and more.
Intellectually, she knew it was unlikely she’d hear from Walker Nelson again. He’d just been doing his job. If he was special forces, he did that kind of thing all the time. Probably rescued hundreds of people. He was probably, even now, on another mission, rescuing someone else. Why would he want to get back in touch with her? Just because she’d felt a connection with him didn’t mean he felt the same.
She was being stupid.
Gillian knew she was a romantic, and that was why she hoped every day when she got up in the morning that today would be the day. Walker would somehow find her number and call or text her, saying he wanted to see her again. Or he’d be waiting for her outside her apartment complex, leaning casually against the wall, and he’d tilt his chin up in greeting when he saw her.
Huffing out a breath, Gillian stood straight and smoothed her shirt. No, it was obvious that wasn’t going to happen. He’d moved on, and she needed to as well.
Her phone dinged with a text, and she grabbed it from the counter and saw she had a few messages she’d missed while she was showering and getting ready.
The first was from Janet. She’d kept in touch after the hijacking, and Gillian loved hearing updates about her daughter Renee. At first the young girl had been traumatized, but after seeing a therapist, Janet reported that she was starting to be more like the girl she’d been before their ordeal. She’d attached a picture of Renee to the text. She was hanging upside down from a set of monkey bars. The smile on her face made Gillian grin. The text accompanying the picture said, Because of you, I’ve got my girl back.
She was uncomfortable with the praise. When all the hostages had been corralled together in a room in the airport in Caracas, waiting to be interviewed individually, they’d talked about everything that had happened. And when the CIA and FBI had arrived to interview them, they’d somehow given the passengers the impression—or maybe it was the hostages who’d given the Feds the impression—that Gillian had been their leader, of sorts.
That it was because of her that so many people had survived the ordeal.
Shaking her head, Gillian read the next text. It was from Andrea. She lived in Austin as well, but she wasn’t ready to meet back up in person yet. Gillian knew she was struggling because of the sexual abuse she’d endured at Luis’s hands, and how traumatized she’d been when Luis had tried to force her to go with him.
Earlier, Gillian had sent her a short text letting Andrea know she was thinking about her. Andrea had replied with, Thanks. I’m doing better and I’ll be in touch soon. I really do want to be strong enough to give you a hug in person.
There was one more text, from Alice, the young woman who’d originally sat next to Gillian on the flight from Costa Rica. She and her husband had both survived and were putting their lives back together in Washington state. They didn’t correspond often, but Gillian was glad to hear from her, even if it was only Alice saying that they’d moved into a new apartment complex, one with twenty-four/seven security.
As she was reading her texts, Gillian’s phone vibrated with another incoming message. This time from Wendy.
Wendy: Have you left yet? Quit overthinking shit and get your ass to the bar. We’ve got your first margarita waiting for you!
Smiling, Gillian shot back a quick note letting her friend know she was on her way, then she turned her back on her reflection and headed out of the bathroom. She grabbed her crossbody purse from her unmade bed and put the strap over her head.
She was walking into her living area when there was a knock on her door.
Stopping in her tracks, Gillian made a conscious effort to slow her heart rate. She didn’t often get people at her door uninvited, but it happened. There was a buzzer that people were supposed to use to get into the building, but sometimes they slipped behind another resident.
Cautiously, and as quietly as possible, Gillian tiptoed to her door and peered through the peephole.
Shocked beyond belief at the person she saw standing there, Gillian fumbled with the locks as she tried to turn them. Her hands were shaking, and she couldn’t get the door open fast enough.
“Hi,” she said when she was finally face-to-face with the man she thought she’d never see again.
“Hi,” Walker Nelson returned.
Gillian inwardly sighed. If she thought he looked good dressed in his black commando gear with black paint smeared on his face, it was nothing compared to the vision that was standing on her doorstep right that second.
He was wearing a royal-blue short-sleeve shirt, which only emphasized his muscular biceps. His forearms were thick as well, and Gillian had to force herself not to swoon right then and there. She’d always been an arm girl, and Walker’s certainly didn’t disappoint. He had on a pair of faded blue jeans that hugged his thighs. She tried not to stare at his groin too long, but noticed he filled out that part of his jeans just fine. Finally, he wore a pair of black combat boots that should’ve looked out of place here in Texas, but somehow seemed to fit him to a tee.
He had a five o’clock shadow that outlined his jaw, chin, and cheekbones. Gillian’s fingers twitched with the need to touch it, to see if it was prickly or soft. His gray eyes had flecks of brown in them—and they were looking at her as if she were the only person in the world right that second. She wasn’t ever the recipient of that kind of attention from men, and to have this man staring at her so intently she thought she would combust was a heady feeling.
They’d been staring at each other so long, Gillian suddenly felt embarrassed. “Um, come in,” she said, stepping back and gesturing to her apartment with her hand.
“Thanks,” Walker said, crowding her for just a second before passing her in the small foyer.
Telling herself to get a grip, Gillian tried to slow her heartbeat. She was giddy with excitement that Walker was actually here. That he’d tracked her down after all. Excuses to get out of her plans with her friends ran through her mind as she followed Walker deeper into her apartment. She tried to keep her eyes off his ass…without much luck. He filled out the back of his jeans just as well as he did the front.
She inhaled deeply to try to get control over herself and not jump on him, and his woodsy scent filled her nostrils. She didn’t remember anything about what he smelled like when she’d last seen him, but that was probably because she’d smelled like a fish head that had been sitting out in the sun rotting for a week or more. At the time, she couldn’t smell anything other than her own fear and sweat.