BULLETPROOF HEART

SAFE HOUSE

BULLETPROOF HEART - CHAPTER 13: SAFE HOUSE

The Interpol safe house in Abuja was not Port Harcourt.

White walls. AC that worked. A real bed — king size — with clean sheets. A kitchen with a fridge that hummed. No rain on zinc. No SUVs outside.

Amara stood in the doorway of the bedroom, wearing the new dress the Interpol woman, Agent Laurent, had given her — soft yellow cotton, simple, to her knees. Her own shoes. Hair finally washed.

Marcus hadn't seen her like this. Not muddy. Not in his shirt. Not running.

Just... her.

He was on the edge of the bed, fresh bandage on his side, clean black t-shirt, haircut Agent Laurent's husband had given him with clippers in the kitchen. He looked younger. Less soldier.

"You clean up okay, Sergeant," Amara said.

"You clean up better," he said, and then caught himself. Rule 3 was long dead, but old habits.

Three weeks since Borokiri. Dele was in custody. Price was being extradited from Dubai. The hard drive was in The Hague. Her father's company was back. Testimony done.

For the first time, no one was hunting them tonight.

"I talked to Papa today," Amara said, sitting next to him, not too close. "He said the company is secure. He said... he said you can have a job. Head of security. If you want."

Marcus smiled a little. "I don't take bribes, remember?"

"It's not a bribe. It's... he likes you. Since you carried his daughter twice and didn't drop her."

"I almost dropped you on the zinc roof."

"You didn't."

Silence. The AC hummed.

"Marcus," she said, softer. "That promise. In the Hilux. You said when this is over, you'd kiss me properly."

"I remember."

"Is it over?"

He looked at her. Really looked. No gun in his hand. No bag. No mud.

He'd been hired to protect a client. He'd ended up finding the truth about his team, finding justice, finding a reason to stay in Nigeria instead of flying back to Texas.

Because of her.

"It's over," he said. "The running part."

Amara leaned in first this time. Slow. Giving him time to pull away, like he had done for her on the roof.

He didn't.

It wasn't a rooftop almost-kiss. It wasn't desperate, or muddy, or one second from death.

It was soft. Quiet. He cupped her face like he had in Room 7 to wipe mud, but this time he stayed. Her hand came up to his wrist, holding it there.

When they pulled back, both breathing a little harder.

"Was that proper enough?" he whispered, forehead against hers.

She smiled, that small dangerous smile from Chapter 1.

"No," she whispered. "Do it again. Properly properly this time."

Outside, Abuja was quiet. No engines cutting. No doors kicking.

Just a safe house, finally safe, with one bed that was not for hiding behind, but for staying.

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*END OF CHAPTER 13*