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except for Abigale.”
    Margaret nodded. “Caroline’s assistant is trying to get word to Abigale now.”
    “Is she still in Afghanistan?”
    “Yes.”
    “You think she’ll come?”
    “Of course.”
    “You sure?”
    “Yes.”
    “I hope you’re right.”
    A heavy silence was broken by the sound of rain splattering off the eaves.
    “It was many years ago, Smitty. I don’t think she’s battling those demons anymore.”
    “Manning is.”
    Margaret felt color rise in her cheeks. “That’s different. Manning has other issues.”
    “Okay.” Smitty raised a shoulder. “I’m just saying.”

CHAPTER
13

    A bigale saw Emilio waiting beyond the security fence as soon as she climbed out of the helicopter in Kabul. He wrapped her in a hug, then reached down and grabbed the handles of the large duffle at his feet. “I probably didn’t pack it like you would have, but I managed to stuff everything in there.”
    “It doesn’t matter. I’m sure it’s perfect. Thank you.”
    “They’ve got you on a military transport all the way to the States?”
    “From here to Ramstein, then I’ll catch another to Andrews.”
    “Did you learn any more about what happened?”
    “No. Just that my uncle was shot. Murdered.” Tears swam in Abigale’s eyes and she looked away. She’d sworn to herself on the chopper ride that she wouldn’t do this, that she’d hold it together until she was alone.
    Emilio ran his knuckles across her cheek. “
Cara mia
. I’m so sorry. Were you very close to him?”
    “I spent every summer at his farm in Virginia from as far back as I can remember until I was seventeen.”
    “Virginia. I hear it’s beautiful there. What kind of farm?”
    “Horses. Foxhunters, mostly.”
    “Foxhunting? Not exactly for the faint of heart.” He flashed a grin. “I can see you doing that.”
    She smiled through her tears. “It drove my father mad, the whole foxhunting scene. He always told Uncle Richard he hadn’t spent thousands of Swiss francs teaching me to ride so I could risk breaking my neck dashing across the Virginia countryside.”
    “But you did it anyway?”
    “Until my father put an end to my Virginia visits.”
    “Because of the danger of foxhunting?”
    “No.”
    “What happened?”
    “Nothing.” Abigale reached for the duffle. “I’d better go.”
    “I’ll walk with you.”
    “No. Let’s say goodbye here. It’ll be easier.”
    “Easier?” Emilio cocked his head. “How so?”
    She took a deep breath. “I won’t be coming back to Kabul.”
    “Why not?”
    “My editor wants to reassign me.”
    “Reassign you? Why? Things are just starting to heat up here.”
    “Maybe so, but the war’s unpopular in the States now. Max said no one wants to see photographs of it.”
    Emilio scowled. “Americans! They couldn’t get enough of it when you won your Pulitzer.”
    “That was four years ago. Baghdad. Different environment. Americans were still reeling from 9/11. They supported Bush’s war on terror then. They don’t anymore.”
    “If Reuters is starting to yank guys, the rest of the media won’t be far behind. God knows where we’ll all end up. Any word from London where you’ll be assigned?”
    “Not yet.”
    Emilio caressed her shoulders. “So we’ll find a way to make it work. I have a million frequent-flyer miles. I’ll visit you. Or we can meet someplace. Perhaps my friend’s villa in the French Riviera that I told you about—”
    Abigale pressed her fingertips to his lips and shook her head. “Don’t.”
    His chocolate eyes narrowed. “Why not?”
    “When we started this, we both vowed that there would be no strings attached, remember? No heartbreak. No hurt feelings. That when the time came for one of us to move on, we’d move on.”
    Emilio sighed, then gave her a tight smile. “
Sí
, we did,” he said softly. He reached for a long strand of hair that had worked its way loose from the clasp at the nape of her neck and twirled her auburn curls