Free Sands of Time by Susan May Warren

maybe, he could invest his life into saving people’s souls, rather than their skins. However, God didn’t want everyone to be a missionary, did He? He needed cops, too.
    Roman closed his eyes, leaned his head against the wall. He shouldn’t have put so much hope—against his better judgment, he might add—into seeing her face. Into thinking that all this time she might have kindled a respect for him. He’d let foolish dreams soften his heart, and she’d landed a stinging blow with her reaction.
    He could understand her disappointment, even reluctance to leave all she’d worked for…but to believe he’d try to sabotage her career with a fabricated story?
    Did she think so little of him, and his respect for her?
    Again, false expectations. She probably hadn’t thought of him but once over the past decade—when she laughed with David over Roman’s Epcot fiasco.
    That’s all he was to her, a big joke.
    A fool.
    He closed his eyes, feeling the hard panes of the concrete floor drill into his spine. He should have curled up, snatched a little shut-eye. But, like the fool he was, he’d sat with his gaze glued to her door. As if she was some sort of criminal. Well…she was. Or would be soon.
    But could he arrest her?
    Even to save her life?
    She already hated him…he could hardly make it any worse. Except…the thought of her in handcuffs made him ill.
    That, the fact that he hadn’t eaten in about twelve hours, and the smell of cleanser and antiseptic redolent in the hall did wonders for his stomach.
    C’mon, Sarai, open the door.
    He stood and stretched his cramped muscles. Probably, she’d had the good sense to crawl under her blanket and get some sleep while he’d been sitting here like an idiot. Served him right. This entire trip had idiot written all over it. Or maybe, Love Sick Fool.
    Whatever. He should take Vicktor up on his hint, throw Sarai over his shoulder and shove her on the nearest transport, even if she went kicking and screaming.
    That would be better than arresting her.
    Maybe.
    He braced his arm against the wall, stretching his calves. Then he broke into a quick walk down the end of the hall.
    He had to admit, Sarai had built an impressive place here using her Russian resources. Compared to Western facilities, the clinic had primitive written all over it, from the white-washed concrete walls, the cracked floors, even if they were clean, and plainly attired rooms. All the same, he noticed all the essentials for an ER trauma in the room at the end of the hall, and wondered how often she had had to use it.
    She had ambition. And guts. He knew a bit about what it took to get supplies—especially medical supplies—into Russia. She needed the resources of Solomon and the courage of King David.
    Obviously the Sarai he’d known—the one who loved to watch Russian movies, who made a mean stir fry and beat him in chess—had morphed into this driven, all-work-no-play medical soldier.
    He had a good reason for his frontal assault into his career. Like trying to escape a heritage of failure his father left behind. But Sarai came from a family of achievers, of heroes. So, what was her excuse?
    He was leaning against the ER reception counter when he heard it—the squeak of hinges. Sarai poked her head out of the open door, checked the hall and then slid out, pulling it quietly behind her.
    The little sneak.
    How he hated when he was right. Especially about Sarai. Please, couldn’t he be wrong, just once?
    “Sarai!” He took off in a sprint down the hall.
    And, wouldn’t you know it, she did, too.
     
    “Sarai!”
    Great, he’d seen her. And why hadn’t she seen him? Because she wasn’t a trained spy, that’s why. Because she lived her life in the open, honestly. Because she dedicated her life to helping others stay alive…and didn’t risk it unnecessarily. Most of all, she didn’t do maniacal, over-the-top things like spend the night like a bull dog outside another person’s door.
    Okay, so