Chapter 43

Nicki willed herself to relax as they walked toward the yacht. She wasn't sure why she was so nervous. The danger was past. They had the prince—even if he didn't know he was a prince. She'd succeeded—they'd succeeded.

So why did she feel like she'd failed?

Ryker/Ari drew fewer stares than he ordinarily would because of his casual clothes, despite his unkempt hair and thick, scraggly beard. But when they approached the yacht with its bold crest of the Royal Family, he didn't react. He stared up at the boat with a rueful smile and turned back to Stefan. "It seems I have very good friends. I'm glad of this, though I don't know what I did to deserve it."

"You've been a worthy friend in return, and will be so again."

Ari didn't seem convinced, and they boarded the yacht under the deferent and watchful eyes of the crew. None of the crew referred to Ari as anything specific, using the same honorifics for him as they would any other dignitary. Ari, for his part, didn't recognize any of them either.

"Tamas here will show you to your stateroom, Ryker," Stefan said. He'd not moved out of touching distance from Nicki, and she wondered about that, too. "We'll be setting sail at first light, sooner if we must. But it would be best not to draw attention."

Ari nodded. "I don't think the authorities will waste resources searching for me. I won't turn down the opportunity for a shower, though." He lifted his hand to his beard. "And if there's a razor of any sort aboard, that'd be good."

"I think you'll find everything you need in your stateroom. I would have brought a barber too, but we can't risk any information about you getting back to officials here."

"Of course," Ari murmured, though he looked bemused as he went below deck.

Stefan wasn't finished yet. He turned with Nicki to walk her across the deck to the ship's communications room. Instead, of entering that room however, he went another few doors down until he rapped on the door. It swung wide and she stared into the bright space—it was some sort of sick room, with a single raised palette, pristine counters and locked cabinets.

And one of the guards standing in the center of the room…with a stethoscope around his neck.

"What's this?" Nicki said, though Stefan wouldn't let her stop until he'd pushed her into the room and closed the door behind them.

"This is Marco Osman, whom you've met. In addition to his skills as an operative, he is the team medic. I don't want to risk a Turkish doctor here in Ala?ati, but it's a twelve-hour trip to O?ros, and I can't risk that either if you are unwell."

"I told you, I feel fine—" the usual panic surged forth as Nicki considered the reality of what Stefan was saying. A doctor would be examining her, and this was only a field medic. When she returned to O?ros, she had no doubt there would be another doctor. Her medical files would be requested, and if her family didn't get involved, it would be a miracle. "Really—I'm good. I'd tell you if I didn't feel okay."

Stefan was immovable as stone. "I can remain in the room or leave, whatever you feel more comfortable with."

Nicki made a face. "Oh, for God's sake, Stefan. Fine." She trooped forward and stood in front of Marco. "You want me standing or on the bed thing?"

"The bed thing is fine," Marco said. To his credit, he didn't smirk, and he didn't glance at Stefan, though Stefan's scowl practically filled the room as Nicki hopped up on the examining table. Before he could ask, she reached up and stripped off her shirt, leaving only her industrial-strength jog bra. To emphasize her irritation, she tossed the shirt to Stefan. She was used to competing in far less clothing than many super models wore. She wasn't shy about her body in front of strangers.

She still flinched when Marco put the stethoscope on her chest. But it was cold.

The tests proceeded from there, the pure basics to determine that her blood pressure, pulmonary activity, pulse and heart rate were normal, with no apparent ill effects from her fainting spell. Her eyes were checked, too, her depth perception and peripheral vision appearing unharmed. Throughout it all, Stefan stared, his glower eventually diminishing to a stoic impassivity that made her more nervous than the checkup did.

"Your immediate vitals are good, and given the limits of our testing equipment, that's as far as we can tell with this equipment," Marco eventually concluded. "You're significantly dehydrated. The climate here is arid, but dehydration can result from other issues too, like stress or adrenal fatigue. You'll want to test that. You don't appear to have suffered a true cardiac event, and I can detect no arrhythmia or fibrillation currently. Nevertheless, we'll want to monitor you for the length of the voyage." He turned to include Stefan in his next statement. "With Miss Clark's permission, we'll have a full workup done as soon as we return to?—"

"No," Nicki said immediately.

"Yes," Stefan snapped. His gaze whipped to hers, but he continued to speak to Marco. "Set it up. For both of us. Full VO-2 Max stress test, echo and EKG testing, and then the same battery of athletic performance tests we put the recruits through at the end of intake training."

"Of course, sir," Marco said as Nicki's eyes narrowed.

"What do you mean, for both of us?"

Stefan shrugged. "If I'm going to ask you to have your physical capacity checked, I should go through it as well. It's been some time since I've gone through the full detail of it, and that's not smart." He nodded to Marco, and tossed Nicki's shirt back to her. "We'll be leaving shortly since you've checked out, and I'd like to put in a call to the king and queen once we clear the port. If you'd join me for that, I'd appreciate it." He hesitated. "Probably best that we're both cleaned up."

Even as he turned to the door, however, his phone buzzed.

Nicki hopped off the bed. "The queen?"

Stefan scowled at his phone. "Regrettably, no. It appears that our attempts to move up our departure may be delayed." He shunted his glance to her, and real regret seemed to color his gaze. "This might take a while. I'll send for you when we're clear."

"Of course," she murmured. He held the door for her and she went through, but to her surprise he didn't touch her, didn't kiss her on the way out. As soon as she registered that disappointment, she clamped down hard on her emotions, and picked up her pace.

"Get a grip on yourself," she muttered, trudging up the hallway back toward the main deck. Stefan was the commander of this yacht. He also was a highly respected diplomat for his country. He did the right thing, at the right time, and when he did it, it mattered. If she was going to stay with him…

Her steps slowed as her brain caught up with her galloping thoughts. Stay with him? That wasn't an option—it had never been an option. Stefan hadn't asked, and he'd certainly given no indication that that was what he wanted from her. He wanted her healthy, sure. He was pissed that she blacked out, but who wouldn't be? And…and he did care for her. She knew that. He cared for her as a teammate definitely. As for more than that, it shouldn't matter. It didn't matter.

She'd always gone it alone, out of self-preservation more than anything else. She could handle going down with a busted heart as long as she didn't drag anyone down with her.

Nothing had changed about that.

Nicki continued to her stateroom. Of course, until now, all her concerns had been hypothetical. Maybe her heart would go out on her one day—maybe it wouldn't. But they were beyond hypotheticals at this point. She'd passed out. Her heart hadn't stopped, sure, but when the going had gotten tough…she'd flaked. No matter how she tried to talk her way out of it, the truth of the matter was—she was sick. She was broken.

The tears started before she made it to the shower. Nicki stripped off her clothes woodenly, pausing in front of the mirror to survey herself. Other than the usual assortment of bruises, she appeared to be whole. Normal. She didn't look like a ticking time bomb. She turned and switched on the water, grateful for the cocoon of noise and warmth as she stepped beneath the heavy spray.

"It doesn't have to change anything," she muttered, but the reality wasn't as easy as that. She had proof now. Who knew what was really wrong with her? At a minimum, she'd be prescribed a laundry list of drugs, and if things got worse, her whole life could change. She could end up walking on eggshells, and that still wouldn't ensure that her heart wouldn't give out one day anyway.

She didn't want surgery. She didn't want more pills. And she didn't want to tell her family, especially her mother, who seemed to have been rooting for the family to stay in crisis since her father had been diagnosed. Nicki didn't want to hear the latest treatment options, didn't want to get forwarded even more articles about athletes dying on the field.

The water pounded down around her, and she leaned against the wall, finally giving into sobs. She didn't want to be broken, a liability. Didn't want to live her life like she was the walking wounded. But now people would know. The staff at the castle. The royal family. Stefan.

She could keep it there, maybe, she thought. If she agreed to the tests conducted in O?ros, there'd be no record of those tests to follow her back home. She could manage her care quietly, away from her family's prying. She wouldn't be stupid—couldn't be, not anymore. She'd care for herself so she never left anyone in the lurch again. But she'd go somewhere that would be easy. Maybe to Josef's teaching school after all, down in Texas. She'd be close to hospitals and clinics there, if needed. She could manage. She would adapt.

Nicki huddled beneath the pounding water, and never felt more alone.