by test
He nodded slowly as he raked his sharp stare over her. His eyes went darker and turned implacable.
“What do you remember?”
“Everything.” She related the details of the accident, including her part in causing it.
“Resourceful,” he commented quietly. Then his eyes hardened, his expression turned harsh and relentless, as he once again became the professional soldier. “Why the hell didn’t you just stay put?”
“Stacy was gone! No one was there!” she yelled in a mix of hurt and anger that had nothing to with the pain in her skull. “You didn’t bother to tell me you were taking her. I was scared and alone. He pointed a gun at me! I thought I was dead. I thought Stacy was ….” Her voice hitched on a guttural sob. “I thought you ….”
She cringed and broke off at the sudden blaze of fury in his eyes. A fierce scowl marred his features as he loomed over her.
“You thought I what?” he demanded in a low, dangerous growl.
Cringing back against the upraised hospital bed, the pillows cushioning her head, she shook her head. Tears gathered in her eyes and she turned her head, looking away from him.
Tremors of pain, emotional and physical, rocked her. She closed her eyes on a whimper of confusion and fear.
He gripped her chin, forced her head back. She opened her eyes warily and flinched at his harsh expression.
“You thought I or someone else kidnapped her.” He didn’t ask. His words made a grim statement of betrayal. He glared hard at her as he said bitterly, “I would never harm a child. I am not a traitor, Laurie. Whatever happens, believe that.”
He abruptly pulled back and sat on the edge of the chair. “You should have stayed at the cabin.”
Her lower lip trembled and she clamped her teeth on it. That small pain could not compete with the rest of the aches and throbs.
“I was terrified, Damien,” she murmured as tears spilled over her lashes. “And alone—
can’t you understand that?” She begged for just the smallest amount of compassion. “I didn’t know what else to do.”
She tore her blurry gaze from him, clenched her shaking hand into a tight fist on the sheet covering her. Through a combination of drugs, pain, and exhaustion, she did not possess the strength to argue or plead further. She didn’t even try to speak past the lump in her throat. Her heart hurt and her body hurt. Her mind whirled in confused circles. Nothing made sense.
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Damien’s hand covered her fist, massaging gently until her fingers uncurled and entwined with his. She reluctantly opened her eyes again, peering at him through a veil of tears.
“I’ll be back to take you home,” he said quietly.
Again she saw that strange flicker in his eyes but his expression was thoughtful as he stood over her. He lifted her hand, brushed his lips over her knuckles.
“I’m sorry you have to be in the middle of this. I’m sorry I hurt you.” He dropped her hand, turned, and walked out the door.
Laurie stared after him, confused and drained of energy. The remorse in his eyes stunned her as well as confused her. She didn’t blame him. He had not chosen her family any more than she had. Oh, he had scared her to death by not telling her he had removed Stacy but that was a forgivable mistake. He certainly had not hurt her. She wished he had stayed with her. On a heavy sigh of longing, she drifted gratefully into drug-induced sleep.
* * * *
Damien paced the hospital corridor in long, agitated strides. Glancing frequently into Laurie’s room, he paused and watched her. She slept, shifting restlessly from the pain of the accident. He finally closed the door to shut out her occasional whimpers of distress. But he stood by the window and continued to watch. He longed with every fiber of his being to stay in there with her. He wanted to hold her, soothe her, and take care of her.
“A week,” he muttered under his breath and scowled. How had he fallen so hard, so fast, so irrevocably? Was it the situation? Or was it simply Laurie herself?
He jerked angrily away from the door, spotted the doctor at the end of the corridor, and stalked after him.
“Doctor,” he barked so harshly the old man halted automatically and turned sharply around.
The blue eyes were bright, sharp, and wary behind the bifocal lenses. He might be over fifty-five but Damien sensed the man was no fool. He had talked to him earlier, before seeing Laurie.
“Can I help you, Mr. McAllister?” he asked firmly.
“I need to get her out of here,” Damien stated curtly. “I explained earlier that a very dangerous man is after her. The longer she stays in a public hospital, without protection, the more susceptible she is to danger. It’s easy for anyone to trace her.”
“I understand that, Mr. McAllister,” the doctor responded firmly. “But I am more concerned about her health. I insist she stay a little longer in case of complications.” He paused, raked his sharp gaze over Damien. “I think you are probably a very dangerous man, yourself.”
Damien nodded acknowledgement but persisted. “I can move her more safely at night.”
“Very well. I’ll check on her once more and we’ll see.” The doctor glanced at his watch and lifted his hard stare back to Damien’s. “I can give her something. It might be better if she sleeps through it. Come with me.”
Damien walked beside him, his mind churning through options. Keeping Laurie sedated for several more hours would make the move easier on him, as well. He followed the doctor into the room, took Laurie’s fragile hand in his, and watched the very thorough examination. He rubbed his thumb in idle circles over her soft skin, felt her slow pulse, and wished heartily things had been different. With his other hand he gently skimmed a few strands of hair from her face then lowered his gaze to the slow rise and fall of her breasts. He lifted his gaze, caught the doctor watching him intently. An uncomfortable flush of warmth disconcerted him.
“I can see you care for her,” the doctor said quietly. “I’ll let you take her to safety.”
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Were his feelings so obvious? Damien shook his head slightly. The doctor prepared a syringe with whatever sedative he preferred. Damien watched, his stomach surprisingly queasy, as the needle slid under the skin of her inner elbow and into the artery. The doctor depressed the plunger, injecting the clear liquid that would keep Laurie asleep, at least groggy enough to be unaware of things. Damien’s heart turned over as the doctor withdrew the needle.
The old man tossed the needle into the biohazard container then stretched his hand over the bed. “Take care of her, Mr. McAllister.” It was part concern and part warning.
Damien shook the doctor’s hand firmly and smiled slightly. “Count on it.”
As the doctor left the room, closing the door quietly behind him, Damien sat on the edge of the bed. With Laurie’s hand still nestled in his, he contemplated his next course of action and the expected results, both professional and personal.
In spite of the drug, her hand tightened fractionally and her eyelids fluttered but remained closed.
“Damien.” His name slurred between her lips but he understood her.
He leaned over, brushed his lips over hers. Desire shot into him. He squelched it, cupping his hand along her cheek.
“It’s okay, honey. I’ll take care of you,” he whispered.
He pulled the chair as close to the bed as possible and sat down, keeping her hand in his.
Though he watched her sleep, his mind raced as he formulated plans for the next phase of his operation.
* * * *
Time seemed to shift haphazardly, passing in a blink or in a slow painful haze as Laurie drifted back and forth over the fuzzy line of consciousness. Only barely aware of movement and infrequent blurry glimpses of Damien, she struggled to focus her mind. Was he taking her somewhere? He had promised to take her home. Every concentrated effort dropped her into oblivion. She longed for her d
aughter, for her home. Dark of night was a soothing blur against her eyes. The dim light of dawn greeted her with a rapid, steady thumping that reminded her of helicopters.
Something warm had been wrapped around her. Her head rested on something firm, warm, and round. She forced her eyes open, her brain wrapped in fog. Drugs, she remembered, in the hospital. Fingers glided through her hair, gently and slowly.
“Shhh. It’s okay. Rest.” Damien’s low voice came out of the darkness, soothing and comforting.
His hand left her hair. He pulled a blanket over her shoulder and rested his hand there.
She lay on her side, her head pillowed on his thigh, wrapped in the heat of him and the blanket.
Satisfied he was taking her home, in a helicopter no less, she closed her eyes and let oblivion claim her again.
A sharp stabbing pain in her skull finally snapped her into full awareness. She winced and groaned, cringing at her own whimpers. Bright sunlight streamed through a window, forcing her eyes into painful squints. Long, thin shadows crossed the window in vertical lines. Bars?
Sunlight blasted her eyes until she blinked rapidly against sudden tears. A jackhammer pounded above her temple and she lifted a weak, trembling hand to her head. The bandage was still there.
She struggled to ignore the bursts of agony in her joints and muscles as she sat up. A wave of dizziness crashed over her and she ceased her efforts. Pain receded to a dull throbbing ache. Her eyes closed against the sun, but she had seen enough. This place, whatever it was, was not home or Damien’s cabin. It certainly was not a hospital.
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She lay atop a thin mattress, in a sparsely furnished room. She shifted painfully onto her side, cautiously opened her eyes to mere slits. A small table and chair stood in the middle of the floor. A black footlocker that had seen better days sat near the cot like a bedside table. Across the room a closed door with a window sealed her inside.
“Where the hell am I now?” she demanded groggily. The question jarred her ears as much as the new surroundings jarred her senses.
A shadow moved in the small window just before the door opened. Damien stepped over the threshold. Thank God, she thought on a sudden surge of relief as her gaze swept over him.
Then she froze. He wore an old dull brown uniform, needed a shave, and carried an unfamiliar rifle slung over his shoulder. He looked like her mental image of a terrorist, right down to the cold-blooded glint in his eyes.
Shocked completely speechless, Laurie gawked at him. Her jaw dropped. Disbelieving the evidence of her own eyes, she closed her eyes for a second then slowly lifted her lashes. He faced her, a stern but dispassionate warning in his dark eyes.
“W—what?” she stammered, nearly choking on panic. Damien was a terrorist? She didn’t want to believe it but he was there, looking dangerous and unpredictable.
He shook his head, his tense expression forbidding further questions. She cringed from his intense glare.
“The General wants to see you,” he intoned formally, every word clipped and succinct.
Cold fury choked her as the implication sank into her bewildered brain. Damien had brought her here. Now the strange flicker in his eyes made sense. He had lied to her! She cast him a glance of withering fury as he opened the door wider and stepped aside. His expression remained blank but his eyes were bitter. She shifted her focus from him to the open door.
Another man, obviously the General, strode into the room. He stood as tall as Damien but carried more muscle, giving him a bulkier appearance that belied the smooth grace with which he approached her. He had the look of a man who had led a hard life but he exuded charm and charisma that persuaded rather than forced. One appreciative brown eye flicked over her in a quick but highly observant glance. A circular black patch covered his other eye.
Laurie flushed from head to toe and pulled the thin sheet higher. Squirming as though insects crawled over her, she glared balefully at the terrorist. With jet-black hair, mustache, and beard, and dark skin, he appeared distinctly Latin American. He wore the air of command naturally, expecting his orders to be obeyed without question.
“Well, Ms. Crawford,” the General spoke congenially in perfect but accented English.
“We meet at last. I know your father well.”
“Then you know him better than I,” Laurie retorted coldly, though she gripped the sheet in tight fists to stop the tremors racking her. “What do you want?”
“From you—nothing,” he replied with a smile that did not reach his visible eye. “That is, nothing you do no wish to give.” The sudden mocking gleam in his eye indicated he would not be averse to any favors she might bestow.
Laurie shot Damien a fast contemptuous glance then glared at the General again, outraged by his phony courtesy.
“Why am I here?” she demanded, putting as much ice in her tone as fear allowed.
He paced around the room in slow, measured strides. “You are my insurance policy.
Your father has been with us many years. I do not wish to lose him.”
“He betrayed his own country,” Laurie shot back derisively. “He’ll probably betray you, as well.”
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The General halted at the foot of the cot and fixed his stony stare on her. “You will prevent that.”
“How long do you intend to keep me here?”
“As long as necessary,” was the curt response.
The cold gleam in his eye sent an involuntary shiver through her. Her heart beat so fast she thought surely he must hear it. She sucked in a sharp breath. Fear once again wrapped icy fingers around her spine. She glanced at Damien, instinctively appealing for his help.
He leaned a shoulder against the door frame, watching them lazily. But his stance was alert, as though he was ready to pounce at the least provocation. He was the enemy. Remember that, she warned her irrational heart. He could not be trusted. She put her hand to her temple. It throbbed beneath her fingertips.
The General blocked her view of Damien and leaned over her. He trailed a finger along her cheek and she shuddered, clamping down on revulsion.
“Rest, my dear. You’ve been through a great ordeal. We’ll talk further later.” With that he turned on his heel and left the room.
Stunned, Laurie watched Damien follow him out. The door closed but she heard no click of a lock. Damien stood on the other side of the door, the back of his head and shoulders visible in the small window.
Alone in the silent room, Laurie scowled at the ceiling. Damien, she fumed, the traitor!
Beneath the anger, hurt wrenched her heart. He had used her, made love to her, then turned her over to these criminals. How could she have believed herself in love with him? A traitor! But she had loved him. No, she loved the man she had believed him to be. Cursing herself for a fool, she wallowed in a sense of betrayal that threatened to drown her. He had merely used her for his own ends. Her mind spinning, she finally slid into fitful, tormented sleep.
* * * *
Standing guard at the door, Damien stared through the window and watched her toss and turn for several long minutes. He finally turned away with a ragged sigh of bitter longing and self-disgust. He had expected fury, even hate, from her. But he had not expected the sharp dagger of pain and guilt that pierced his heart when she looked at him. The devastated betrayal that lurked deep in her emerald eyes had cut him to the bone. He’d rather be stabbed with a dull rusted knife than have Laurie look at him with such pain and accusation in her eyes.
He scowled. He had disagreed, quite vehemently, with the plan from the start of this covert operation. It was not a Navy operation. He and his team were on strict loan to some secret national security group that even he had never heard of before. Instead of a slow, undercover infiltration, he had used Laurie to facilitate a rapid, potentially unstable insertion.
The key to his success was Laurie. Disgusted, Damien slouch
ed against the door in a flood of guilt. Why hadn’t he at least told her? She still would not have had a choice in the matter but if he had been honest with her, she would not look at him with such hatred and contempt.
Low ragged groans dragged him out of his self-loathing. He jerked around and peered through the dirty window. His heart clenched. Fighting the thin sheet, Laurie tossed and turned on the cot. She groaned and whimpered with every move. Tears streamed from her eyes. Without thought, Damien jerked the door open and stalked into the room, pulling the door shut behind him. He crossed the room in three strides and perched on the edge of the cot. Her hands abruptly flailed the air, either seeking help or warding off evil.
“Laurie.” He grabbed her hands, held them firmly at her sides as he leaned over her.
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Her breasts brushed his chest as she squirmed and tried to jerk back from him. Sharp jolts of desire shot into him. He squelched his sudden clawing need for her and leaned closer.