Covert Cargo. Elisabeth Rees
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you.”
Beth looked out the window. “I miss her too sometimes, but my life is different now. I’m happier this way.”
“As a recluse?”
She didn’t answer.
“No man is an island, Beth.”
She turned her head from the window to face him. “What does that mean?”
“It’s an old poem from England,” he said, quoting the lines, “‘No man is an island entire of itself. Every man is a piece of the continent.’”
“I never knew you were so cultured,” she said in a teasing tone. “But I still don’t know what it means.”
The truck hugged the shoulder of the road as they neared the lighthouse, shrouded in swirling fog. “It means that we all need connections to others to make us strong and healthy. God made us as individuals, but that doesn’t mean He intended us to be alone.”
The teasing tone disappeared from her voice. “I don’t know what God intends for me, but right now I’m happy alone.”
He knew this wasn’t true. He knew it was an act, perfected in order to push people away and bolster her lack of confidence. But if that was her choice, he wouldn’t push the matter.
“If you’re happy to put your faith in God’s path,” he said, “then you can’t go wrong.”
She smiled, and the way she tilted her head to brush hair from her neck reminded him of Aziza. It was just a flash of something, a split second of familiarity that transported him back four years to a hot and arid plain in Afghanistan. At that time, he was driving along a dusty road to Kabul with a young woman escaping certain death. And now he was back in the same situation, forced to choose which innocent lives to save. As soon as Tyler arrived, he would relinquish Beth’s safety to his good friend and fellow SEAL. Then he could get back to work.
As the truck neared Beth’s home, Dillon saw that the fog surrounding it appeared thicker than before, curling around the tower like smoke. When an acrid smell began filling his nostrils, he realized that it was smoke.
“I think we may have a problem,” he said, hitting the gas pedal hard to pick up speed.
Beth placed her hands on the dash, leaning forward and letting her mouth drop open in confusion and disbelief.
“My cottage,” she exclaimed. “It’s on fire!”
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