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Chapter Eighteen
After opening the door, Chantal forgot to breathe. His solid build took up most of her brightly lit porch. Thanks to the humidity and soft rain, his t-shirt clung to a chiseled frame. No armor, just warm skin. Chantal resisted the urge to reach out. Her gaze traveled up to his face and froze. Set in a harsh grimace, his expression savage, Gage looked ready to go to war.
“Your neck.”
“I know… it looks worse than it feels. Come in.”
Chantal stepped aside, yet he didn’t budge.
“I can see every fucking finger mark.”
“Fun times.” She focused on the pitter-patter of drops bouncing off the gutters.
“Jesus, Chants. This isn’t a joke.”
“Believe me, I know.” Chantal walked to the small kitchen and picked up her glass of wine.
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Did the rain ever stop? It was supposed to be partly cloudy today. The gray clouds reflected Gage’s mood as he watched Wyatt lead Chantal from the car to the printing house. She’d been right about hitting the ground running. They’d traveled the length and breadth of Colombo as she’d gathered supplies for the upcoming symposium while methodically ticking off a to-do list in her unwieldy planner.Not only had she fought at the docks with customs over duty payments for wheelchairs entering the country, but she’d bought blankets, loaded up food packages from a food bank, and picked up medical supplies from a wholesaler. Throughout the day, she’d completely ignored Gage and stuck by Alexis’s side. Chantal laughed and giggled with her friend—even flirted with a medical rep. Tamping down on his irritation, Gage and his team trailed behind as her local guards helped her haul supplies to the car.Like the MSD team, her protection
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After helping her mother off the table, Chantal stepped back as her mom gingerly stretched her arm.“How does it feel?”“Good. Better. You’re a miracle worker; you have the magic touch.”“It’s a learned skill and nothing to do with miracles.” Chantal folded a towel as her mother slipped a cardigan over her vest and walked to the sofa in the bedroom corner.“It’s late. Join me for a drink.”“I’m tired—it’s been a long day gathering remaining supplies for the symposium.” Chantal suppressed a yawn.Shrugging, the ambassador uncorked the brandy decanter and poured out a splash of golden liquid. Chantal took in a slow breath, gathering courage.“I mean it when I say that anyone else could step into my shoes.”“You’re my daughter and have my best interests at heart. You’ll continue with my therapy.” Conn
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Hands in pockets, Jona entered the dark pub, glancing over at the big screen’s cricket game. A crowd watched a replay of the one-day international match. Veering past the snooker tables, Jona zoned in on a quiet booth held by one lone occupant. Jona slid into the opposite seat, and the man straightened.“‘Cheers.’ Really? You chose a bar called ‘Cheers.’”“They have good food. British pie.” Beady eyes took in Jona’s hoodie as the thug forked at a piece of pastry and chicken before swiping at the gravy on the plate. Harris shoveled the food into a hungry mouth, glancing up nervously at Jona’s lethal stare.“What’s your fucking problem?” he asked.“Imagining the different ways I could kill you. It’s a game.”“You’re crazier than I am.”“Damn right. And I’ve racked up more bodies at half your age. Never forget that
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Hatton. Sri Lanka. Getting out of the city was what Chantal needed. She paused to take in the lush surroundings as she climbed from the armored suburban on stiff legs. Surrounded by the hills of the Sri Lankan tea country, Chantal found relief in the cooler air. First the three-hour inland trip from Colombo to Kandy, and then the forty-mile trip to Hatton, which sat at an elevation exceeding 4000 feet. The perfect climate for growing the finest tea in the world. Mixed feelings over the location for the symposium had Chantal turning her back on the lavish plantation bungalow. To tourists, the tea fields provided a perfect getaway, set amongst green vistas, and waterfalls. Their every whim was taken care of, in luxurious rooms, between visiting tea estates and tasting herbal beverages. Many visitors ignored the colonial air permeating the region or the reality for the female workers picking tea for ten-hour days—a back-breaking
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The stuffy auditorium had Gage on edge. Both MSD teams and local forces had locked down the symposium. Gage now stood to the side of the small stage and watched the crowd, made up of VIPs, local politicians, the media, and foreign diplomats.Chantal was the next speaker. Feeling on edge, Gage shifted his stance and focused on the packed room. Thanks to intel, he recognized many familiar faces. After flagging a few unknowns and communicating with his team, Gage watched Chantal step onto the stage. She looked sophisticated in a navy pants suit—not overtly sexy, but it didn’t need to be. A pale blue silk scarf concealed the healing marks on her throat. Gage hated that reminder—of his failure of her physical and mental protection. He watched Chantal move across the stage. The way she walked and held herself communicated alluring confidence. Like her mother, Chantal played the intellectual card well and to her advantage.Tea
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Chantal looked up as Wyatt approached, taking the opportunity to stretch out her back as she helped a patient off a bed. “You’ve been at this for hours. It’ll get dark soon.” Dishan joined her Agent in Charge and agreed, a concern reflected in his eyes. “It’s time to call it a day, after fifteen hours on your feet.” “I could help so many more.” Chantal looked around the humble meeting space where they’d set up their makeshift treatment site. “You still have tomorrow.” She did. They planned to leave in two days, and she wanted to see at least sixty more patients. She wasn’t the only one hustling—the two local chiropractors who owned the center took the lead on the operation and shouldered the bulk of the work. “Nanri.” The Tamil term for thanks rolled off her tired lips, and conceding to Wyatt’s request, she ga
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Gage followed Chantal and her local detail across the lawn, watching the shadows for danger. When he had clear and unseen access to the verandah, Chantal slid open the door, and he slid through. Gage held up a hand and texted Gannon.“What are you doing?”“Stepping up your detail. Approaching your room so easily reveals a gap in local patrols. I’ll get more of my team involved—more patrolling bodies.”“Hang ten. Let me first close the curtains. Don’t you share a room with Gannon?” she asked as she slipped the drapes in place, tamping down on her nerves.“Yeah. He can draw his own conclusions.” Gage walked up and ran his hands over her hips. “I like your shirt. Stripes look good on you.”“How about my bra?” Chantal grinned and pulled her t-shirt over her head.Gage’s mouth twisted into a smile. “Soft lac
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Chantal felt along the patient’s scapula. “I’m not doing an adjustment. She needs to see a doctor and possibly have an MRI. I suspect a torn rotator cuff.”Shoulder pain was a common occurrence with many tea pickers who carried sacks every day, hoisting them over their backs as they walked.The translator told the hunched woman sitting on the table. The lady replied, agitation apparent as she pointed at her shoulder.“She can’t afford that. Even with her husband working in Dubai.”Chantal nodded at the translator. “Of course not. She should check first with her plantation manager. They may cover the costs through insurance. If not, here’s the number for a free clinic in Kandy. If she can get to that town, they’ll take care of her appointments and surgery.”The lady still shook her head and babbled in Tamil.“She can’t stop working in the fields or leave her three c
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