BULLETPROOF HEART

THE MORNING AFTER

BULLETPROOF HEART - CHAPTER 14: THE MORNING AFTER

Amara woke up first.

Sun through the safe house blinds, cutting straight across the king bed. AC still humming. Her head was on Marcus's chest, his arm heavy around her shoulders, his other hand tangled in hers even in sleep.

She'd never slept through the night since she stole the drive. Not once. Always listening for engines, boots.

Last night she hadn't listened for anything except his breathing.

Marcus's shirt — the clean black one — was on the chair. Her yellow dress was on the chair too, neatly folded. Agent Laurent had taught her well: nothing on the floor. She smiled to herself.

He shifted, waking up. Eyes squinting open, American, tired, soft for once.

"Hey," he said, voice rough from sleep.

"Hey."

"You stayed."

"You told me Rule 2. Don't leave your sight."

"That rule was for Port Harcourt."

"It works in Abuja too."

He laughed, that rusted laugh she loved now, and pulled her closer, kissing the top of her head.

"I have to tell you something," he said.

"That's never good when a man says it in bed."

"No, it's good. I got a call. From Interpol. They want me to testify in The Hague next month. About Price. About the convoy."

Amara propped up on her elbow. "Will you go?"

"Yeah. I need to. For my guys." He looked at her. "Will you come?"

"To The Hague? Marcus, I just got my father's company back, I have 400 emails—"

"Not as my client. As..."

He stopped. Soldier who could breach a building in 6 seconds, couldn't say a simple thing.

Amara saved him.

"As your girlfriend who breaks soldiers?"

"Yeah. That."

She leaned down and kissed him. Morning kiss, soft, a little sleepy, better than last night because it wasn't a promise anymore, it was a habit starting.

Downstairs, the front door opened with a key. Only three people had a key.

"AMARA! I BROUGHT AKARA! AND YOUR FATHER BROUGHT—"

Agent Laurent's voice stopped mid-sentence in the kitchen.

Amara froze, eyes wide. Marcus froze.

From downstairs: "Why are there two plates? And why is... Chief, is that your daughter's dress?"

Chief Opobo's voice: "My daughter's yellow dress is on a chair. That is a good sign. It means she is not wearing it. Why is she not wearing it?"

Amara buried her face in Marcus's chest, trying not to laugh and die of embarrassment at the same time.

Marcus, soldier who'd faced gunmen, was turning red.

"Chief is here at 8 AM?" he whispered.

"My father doesn't believe in 8 AM, he believes in 5 AM and being early to embarrass me," she whispered back.

Loud knock on the bedroom door.

"Amara! Are you decent? Your father is having heart attack!"

Amara grabbed the bedsheet, wrapped it around herself — she was still in her slip from last night, perfectly decent — and opened the door an inch.

Chief Opobo stood there in full white kaftan, holding a plastic bag of akara, looking over her head straight at Marcus in the bed, shirtless, sheet up to his waist.

Chief stared. Marcus stared.

Then Chief smiled, big gap-tooth smile.

"Good morning, son-in-law. You finally kept Rule 3 broken. I like that."

Marcus: "Sir, I can explain—"

Chief: "Explain after breakfast. Akara is getting cold. And you —" he pointed at Marcus — "you put on shirt before my daughter's mother sees you on video call. She is very traditional."

He walked away, shouting, "Laurent! Put extra plate!"

Amara closed the door, collapsed back onto the bed next to Marcus, both of them shaking with quiet laughter.

"Son-in-law?" Marcus said.

"He's called you that since the church," she said. "You're stuck."

"Good stuck?"

She curled back into his side, head on his chest again, listening to his heart — steady now, not from focus, from being safe.

"The best stuck," she said.

And downstairs, the smell of akara filled the safe house that was finally, actually, a home.

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*END OF CHAPTER 14,