Prologue

PROLOGUE

TWELVE YEARS AGO, PARIS, FRANCE

M aggie Ellis shot another glance at the haggard man sitting alone under the awning of the outdoor café. Dark beard, darting eyes, deep grooves in his weathered face. Of course, he could be a Frenchman with swarthy coloring, but with the beard and the overwrought expression, he resembled a Middle Easterner who’d lost his entire family in a war. The unsettling vibe he gave off kept Maggie from focusing on her boyfriend.

“I have something for you.”

Jake’s words, uttered in his understated way, claimed her attention. Looking back at him, Maggie’s heart skipped a beat at the sight of an emerald solitaire flanked by two diamond chips and sitting in a black velvet box.

“It’s a promise ring, so don’t panic. I’d like for us to marry in about ten years.”

Her rounding eyes rose to Jake’s soft-blue gaze as he watched her reaction through his thick lenses. With his glasses and brown hair, Jake resembled a tall Harry Potter. To hide her astonishment, she focused back on the ring.

“Oh, Jake.”

The dismay in her voice caused his mouth to firm and his shoulders to slump. “Look, it’s only a promise ring. Just please take it.”

“No, I love it. Really, it’s just…you shouldn’t have.”

“Why not?” He took the ring out of its box and held out both hands. “Come on. Let’s see if it fits.”

As he slid the circle up the fourth finger of her left hand, where it lodged securely and comfortably, Maggie considered what it signified: a promise to end up together.

For a moment, she allowed the romanticism of the moment to sweep her away. His gesture was the icing on the cake for a perfect year. It was here at Café du Jour that they’d met at the outset of their junior year abroad?—the best eight months of her life so far.

Looking up, she took it all in: the crisp spring air and flower boxes in all the windows. The ubiquitous smell of fresh-baked baguettes. And, in the distance, the gothic bells of Notre-Dame Cathedral tolling 6:00 P.M. The pale-blue sash of sky between the dormered roofs of the buildings on each side of the street had begun to blush toward the hue of France’s rosé wines. She would treasure this moment.

Jake still had hold of her hand. “Do you like it?”

She couldn’t lie. The emerald popped against her tan skin. “I love it.” But nowhere in her future did she expect to be Mrs. Jake Carrigan, let alone Mrs. Anybody. She and Jake would return to their respective colleges?—to Georgetown U, in her case, Boston U, in his, ten hours apart from each other. The connection they’d discovered in Paris would pass into oblivion, as all things did.

Caressing her knuckles with his thumb, he hedged, “Listen, Lena.”

She loved that he called her that. Only her Venezuelan relatives had ever shortened Magdalena to Lena.

“I know you’ve got plans to take on the world, and I’m not about to try and stop you.”

Yep. She was her father’s daughter through and through, a chip off the old block.

“But what we have doesn’t come along every day. You have to realize that.” Determination glinted in his eyes.

She’d been known to make light of their connection because it scared her. Romance would only complicate her future. Yet everything Jake said felt just right. His sense of humor kept her laughing. From the day they’d met, they’d been inseparable. And when he kissed her, she clamored for more?—at which point Jake, with his scruples, always drew the line.

“I realize.” Smiling with mixed apology and gratitude, Maggie decided to accept the ring, if only as a memento of this beautiful chapter in her life.

Movement out of the corner of her eye returned her attention to the man under the awning. He’d gotten up from his table and was walking away, leaving his backpack under his chair.

“Oh, sir.” She raised her voice so he would hear her. “You left your bag.” But he didn’t so much as glance back.

Jake craned his neck to see who she was talking to, then to identify the bag. Concern knit his brow, but Maggie was already two steps ahead of him. Growing up in Venezuela, she had seen her share of violent protests.

Her brain downshifted, turning seconds into minutes. The black backpack with its vivid Adidas logo lay not five yards away. The man’s weird energy suddenly made perfect sense. He’d left that bag there on purpose; he was planning to wreak havoc on this outdoor café.

The blood drained from Maggie’s head.

Jake took in her reaction. “Oh, come on. He probably just forgot it.”

She had to warn people, but horror gripped her vocal cords. All Maggie could do was lunge out of her chair, grab Jake by his shirtfront, and haul him toward her, away from the bag. As slim as he was, it wasn’t hard to move him.

“Bomb.” She managed to get that one hoarse word out. The terrorist was striding down the stone-paved street, intent on distancing himself. Maybe they still had time. “Move!” She wanted to run, to warn people, but Jake resisted.

“We can’t just leave. I still have to pay.”

Strangers all around them were gaping at her use of the word bomb .

Meanwhile, the would-be terrorist had slipped into a small green car. Maggie pointed desperately at the backpack. “That’s a bomb!”

“Lena, he probably just forgot it.”

But the foreigner was aiming what looked like a remote control in their direction.

“Down!”

There wasn’t any more time to convince Jake. All Maggie could do was heave their wrought-iron table onto its side to be used as a shield. Their glasses and empty plates came crashing down.

Even as she hauled Jake down alongside her, a brilliant light burst over them. The heavy table cannoned into them. A high-pitched buzz distorted the roar and the screams that followed.

Stay conscious! Stay alive!

When the roar receded, Maggie found herself curled into a ball, with Jake draped limply over her.

It took ages to get out from under him. Her movements were feeble. She couldn’t get her body to do what her brain was telling it to. Bits of shrapnel abraded palms and knees, cutting her skin as she struggled free.

“Jake!” He slumped bonelessly onto the debris. The frame of his glasses hung askew, one lens shattered. Bits of glass shimmered on his skin. His thick brown hair was covered in ash, and the gash on his brow ridge pulsed blood with every beat of his heart. “Jake!” She shook him. “Jake, wake up!”

Little fires blazed on every side. He couldn’t die on her, not after giving her the ring.

Jake’s lashes fluttered. His soft blue gaze focused on her face. “Lena.”

“Yes! I’m here, Jake. And you’re okay. You’re okay. ” She ran trembling fingers over his body, seeking injury, not finding any?—apart from the head wound. But his eyes rolled back into his skull, and his eyelids melted shut.

Her heart stopped for a second time that night. Had he just died on her?

Checking his jugular for a pulse, she felt nothing but warm skin.

“No!” Bent over him, Maggie cupped his dear face, smearing blood across his temple. “Don’t you dare die on me, Jake Carrigan. I promise I’ll marry you one day, okay? But you have to live. You hear me?”