Sawyer bellowed. “You disappeared.”
Hagan turned to Sawyer and Camden. They ambled down the aisle with a week’s worth of junk food in their arms, then stopped short. Each man narrowed his gaze, as though Hagan looked as battered on the outside as he felt on the inside.
Sawyer repositioned a six-pack of energy drinks. “What the hell happened to you?”
Hagan rubbed a hand over his face. “No idea.”
They took it as a joke and let it go. Hagan followed them toward the front of the hypermarket, half-listening to their debate over who would’ve won their game.
At the checkout, he tossed his items onto the conveyor belt, very aware that the nameless woman was gone. The air no longer crackled and sparked.
If he saw her again, he’d try his luck with an easier approach, like a simple hello, then let her take it from there. Answers would come—if they crossed paths again. More than anything, Hagan realized he simply wanted to know her name.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Amanda took her first vacation day since opening her security firm. She’d never had a normal nine-to-five job, never punched a clock, or counted the minutes until the end of her day. It wasn’t only because she was the boss. Staying busy was her modus operandi. No one she knew would’ve believed it if she announced a personal day to tour a local attraction—though her mom might have celebrated taking time off. At least, Mom would have until she learned Mandy was hiding from reality and avoiding a handsome stranger.
It hadn’t been that hard to ignore the real world while touring the Heritage Village, a reconstruction of a walled village from the pre-oil era. She’d spent the day with camels and goats, traders and craftsmen. It’d been fun, but it hadn’t erased her run-in with the man at LuLu’s. She’d never be able to use her new earbuds without thinking about him.
A swordsmith hammered metal into a curved blade. Amanda watched as he bent the sharp edge until it resembled the letter J. Maybe the mystery man’s name started with a J.
John?
Jerry?
Jeez, this was as embarrassing as kicking him in the crotch. She turned from the swordsmith and followed a sign for the museum. A display of ceremonial blades welcomed her under a sign that explained the khanjar blades and their hook-like, J-design. “Oh, for God’s sake.”
She stormed passed the display. It didn’t matter what letter his name started with, and even if it were a J, the list of J names was endless. She sidestepped a family engrossed in the history of Emirati poetry and mystical interpretations. The mother read of a fabled curse—like a jinx. Amanda could’ve hugged the woman for putting the word in her head. J stands for jinxed, and jinxed had nothing to do with a man, because she was the living, breathing jinx.
How completely depressing and true. She gave up on the rest of the museum and followed the exit signs. They spit her back into the village’s fray. Sun and the scent of camels rolled over her. The distant sound of swordsmiths hammering metal Js made her temples throb. She’d had as much as she could take of her day off.
After five minutes sidestepping merchants and artists, Amanda crossed the walled, gated threshold and found herself immersed in modern times. Her cell phone rang. “What timing…”
The weight of the world fell off her shoulders when she saw the call identified as the White House Switchboard. She didn’t need a day off. Amanda needed her family. “Hello?”
“Hey, sweet pea.”
An invisible hug wrapped around her from the other side of the world. “Hi, Mom.”
“How’s my favorite world traveler today?"
She tittered. “Yeah, that’s me, and how many summits have you been to in the last month?”
“Which is why I’m calling.” Mom briefly spoke to someone else, then returned. “I found a teapot in Japan that you would love, and I liked it so much that I got one for myself, too.”
“You need new tea for the new pot.”
“I was hoping you might say that—hang on a second.” Her mother greeted someone. Amanda could picture her mother walking through the White House before her day teaching. She’d have on a pantsuit and stylishly, sensibly low heels. Mom interacted with the White House staff, treating everyone the same no matter if they were presidential policy advisers or longtime residence staff who would remain long after the Hearst family had left.
Occasionally, political pundits would remark on the First Lady’s manners, which Amanda never understood. Acting like a