Chapter 21

Chapter Twenty-One

The trip home was a blur. Caught between heaven and earth, Asher drifted in a haze of whatever feel-good drug his medical attendant had injected into his pre-flight IV. He woke briefly when they transferred his gurney from the airliner to an ambulance. From there? His guess was as good as anyone's.

At last, motion ceased. Low quiet voices faded beyond his ability to listen, focus, or care. They could've been doctors, lawyers, or Indian chiefs, he couldn't tell. The bed he ended up in was clean and firm. The sheets soft. Another blood pressure cuff strangled his biceps. Tubing of a cannula slithered across his cheek. The lights went out and machines beeped steadily and quietly. He didn't bother opening his eyes. Alex had accompanied him home, and home was no doubt the medical unit at TEAM HQ. Not home as much as a good enough place to land. He wanted to call his folks. Should've already done that. Maybe Alex had.

"Hey, man."

Asher blinked up at the shadowy guy leaning over him with his hand on the headboard. "Wyatt?"

"Yeah, Asher, it's me. You're at TEAM HQ and Doc Fitz will be in again shortly. Thought I'd check on you before I head home."

"Thought you were already home."

"I had something to do first."

"W-what?"

"I contacted Joshua, you know who I mean."

"Yeah, sure." Asher was coherent enough to recall that Joshua ben David was Mossad and a good friend. He and his men were lethal Nazi hunters. Nazi, Hamas, Houthi, ISIL, didn't matter the breed of mad dog, Joshua and his team hunted them all and put them down when they found them.

"Joshua rescued three Afghan boys from Jamah's stinking dungeon. They're in pretty bad shape, but he took them to an Israeli hospital. They'll be okay now. I thought you should know."

Asher nodded so Wyatt knew he was earnestly listening. Sort of. Trying to.

"Tell your girlfriend those little guys were Sariah's real children. The bitch gave them to Jamah. Don't know why. Don't care. Oh, and Harley, Walker, and Maverick ended Jamah and Tippetts tonight. Thought you should know that, too."

"Three little boys?" Asher asked dazedly. He vaguely remembered the name Sariah. Couldn't place her with certainty. It'd come to him… someday. "B-but three boys?" That was the unbelievable part of this conversation. Not that Harley, Walker, and Maverick ended Jamah and Tippetts, but—three little boys? Handed over to a known murderer and pedophile. By their mother. "I honestly hate some people," he mumbled.

Wyatt pressed the flat of his fist against Asher's good shoulder. "Cool your jets, brother. They're better off where they are now. You done good, saving the boss like you did."

"Yeah, well," Asher breathed heavily. "Good bosses are hard to train."

Asher closed his eyes, but just for a minute. Or two…

It came to him slowly, the question he should've asked. His eyes popped open. "Where's Marlowe? She okay?"

Wyatt didn't answer. The room was dark, the bed was soft, and… "Marlowe," Asher whispered into the night. "I love you, baby girl."

There. He'd told her. Kinda. Tomorrow? He'd tell her again.