after seeing a therapist, Janet reported that she was starting to be more like the girl she’d been before their ordeal. She’d attached a picture of Renee to the text. She was hanging upside down from a set of monkey bars. The smile on her face made Gillian grin. The text accompanying the picture said, Because of you, I’ve got my girl back.
She was uncomfortable with the praise. When all the hostages had been corralled together in a room in the airport in Caracas, waiting to be interviewed individually, they’d talked about everything that had happened. And when the CIA and FBI had arrived to interview them, they’d somehow given the passengers the impression—or maybe it was the hostages who’d given the Feds the impression—that Gillian had been their leader, of sorts.
That it was because of her that so many people had survived the ordeal.
Shaking her head, Gillian read the next text. It was from Andrea. She lived in Austin as well, but she wasn’t ready to meet back up in person yet. Gillian knew she was struggling because of the sexual abuse she’d endured at Luis’s hands, and how traumatized she’d been when Luis had tried to force her to go with him.
Earlier, Gillian had sent her a short text letting Andrea know she was thinking about her. Andrea had replied with, Thanks. I’m doing better and I’ll be in touch soon. I really do want to be strong enough to give you a hug in person.
There was one more text, from Alice, the young woman who’d originally sat next to Gillian on the flight from Costa Rica. She and her husband had both survived and were putting their lives back together in Washington state. They didn’t correspond often, but Gillian was glad to hear from her, even if it was only Alice saying that they’d moved into a new apartment complex, one with twenty-four/seven security.
As she was reading her texts, Gillian’s phone vibrated with another incoming message. This time from Wendy.
Wendy: Have you left yet? Quit overthinking shit and get your ass to the bar. We’ve got your first margarita waiting for you!
Smiling, Gillian shot back a quick note letting her friend know she was on her way, then she turned her back on her reflection and headed out of the bathroom. She grabbed her crossbody purse from her unmade bed and put the strap over her head.
She was walking into her living area when there was a knock on her door.
Stopping in her tracks, Gillian made a conscious effort to slow her heart rate. She didn’t often get people at her door uninvited, but it happened. There was a buzzer that people were supposed to use to get into the building, but sometimes they slipped behind another resident.
Cautiously, and as quietly as possible, Gillian tiptoed to her door and peered through the peephole.
Shocked beyond belief at the person she saw standing there, Gillian fumbled with the locks as she tried to turn them. Her hands were shaking, and she couldn’t get the door open fast enough.
“Hi,” she said when she was finally face-to-face with the man she thought she’d never see again.
“Hi,” Walker Nelson returned.
Gillian inwardly sighed. If she thought he looked good dressed in his black commando gear with black paint smeared on his face, it was nothing compared to the vision that was standing on her doorstep right that second.
He was wearing a royal-blue short-sleeve shirt, which only emphasized his muscular biceps. His forearms were thick as well, and Gillian had to force herself not to swoon right then and there. She’d always been an arm girl, and Walker’s certainly didn’t disappoint. He had on a pair of faded blue jeans that hugged his thighs. She tried not to stare at his groin too long, but noticed he filled out that part of his jeans just fine. Finally, he wore a pair of black combat boots that should’ve looked out of place here in Texas, but somehow seemed to fit him to a tee.
He had a five o’clock shadow that outlined his jaw, chin, and cheekbones. Gillian’s fingers twitched with the need to touch it, to see if it was prickly or soft. His gray eyes had flecks of brown in them—and they were looking at her as if she were the only person in the world right that second. She wasn’t ever the recipient of that kind of attention from men, and to have this man staring at her so intently she thought she