by A. J. Quinn
The blade cut into her, the pain searing as blood ran freely. “What’s your lover’s name, Commander?”
She hadn’t known pain could be this bad and she tried to lash out, but her hands were securely manacled by the ropes and he held her back easily. Laughing. Bruising her as she tried to fight him. In her present condition, he was stronger than she was. But she continued to try, continued to struggle.
He backhanded her across the face, a casual blow that snapped her head back. She heard a strangled cry, but it took some time before she realized it had come from her. He seemed to like it and hit her again. She felt another scream well up inside but knew it was what he wanted. To stop herself, she bit her lip so hard her mouth began bleeding again.
“You haven’t answered my question.” He leaned closer, inhaling the scent of blood and fear and pain as he made another cut. “Tell me your lover’s name. Surely you understand I won’t stop until you answer. So the sooner you tell me, the sooner this will be over.”
She closed her eyes.
“Tell me her name.”
The pain grew, became intolerable. “You’ll tell me her name before we’re through.” His eyes were calm as he looked down at her, drawing the knife slowly across her skin. “You’ll beg me to let you say it.”
She saw the blood shining on the blade as he brought it up. Ready to cut again. She bit down on her lip, but there was nothing she could do to stop it. Except…
“Her name is—”
“—Tate.”
In the darkness, she heard the echo of the scream ripped from her throat with a violence that left her shaking. Struggled to breathe. And then Tate was there. She must have felt something of her desperation. Tate reached out with one hand and began to slowly rub comforting circles on her back.
“You’re safe,” she whispered soothingly. “It was only a dream.”
Evan hunched her shoulders and immediately tried to pull away.
“Evan? Baby, what is it?”
Evan narrowed her eyes as light suddenly spilled out from the small bedside lamp Tate had switched on.
“Nothing.” Her mouth felt wooden, stiff, as she mumbled her response. Scrambling out of reach, she sat up on the bed and cradled her head in her hands, tension radiating through her body. Dark, haunting images flickered across her mind and she took several deep breaths to calm herself. “I need a minute. Please. Just don’t touch me…I just need a minute.”
Tate jerked back as if she’d slapped her and there was a strained silence between the two of them. Clearly uncertain, Tate sat back, staying just within reach.
“I won’t touch you,” she said quietly. “But be careful. You’re on the edge of the bed, and one more move in that direction and you’ll end up on the floor.”
Evan nodded and tried to focus on steadying her breathing and keeping panic at bay. Her hands were shaking, her head was spinning, and as she turned away, a dark curtain of hair mercifully fanned down the side of her face, cloaking her. But there was no real place to hide.
“I can’t think straight and I’ve got the shakes,” she said unnecessarily, her voice whisper-quiet. She was appalled by the tears burning her eyes and the recognition that she was on the verge of falling apart.
“You’ve had a pretty rough time of it these last few months. You’re entitled to let go. You don’t always have to be strong.”
It took several more minutes, but slowly the ice around her began to break up and dissolve, and the need for warmth and a human touch finally took precedence. Blindly, she reached out and clutched Tate’s hand, a lifeline she could use to reel herself in.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered. Her breath hitched and she bore down. It wasn’t Tate’s fault that her life had undergone an unplanned metamorphosis. Nor was it Tate’s fault she hadn’t explained everything.
She wanted to close her eyes, to go into the dark, but instead she forced herself to keep them open and on Tate. “I should have told you sooner. I have some cuts…on my back. Kelsey assured me, like everything else, they’ll heal, but right now they’re hypersensitive and I overreacted.”
Tate inhaled sharply. She could count the seconds between heartbeats as she remained motionless, stung and confused.
Evan was a lousy liar. And she was unquestionably lying, or at the very least withholding something. What Tate couldn’t understand was why. She might have cuts on her back—Kelsey had said as much—and those cuts might be sensitive, but that wasn’t why she had pulled away. There was something else at play and knowing that much left Tate no closer to understanding what was going on.
“You don’t need to apologize.” She worked at keeping her voice soft, unemotional, but it was killing her by inches. Because all she wanted to do was hold Evan close and try to figure out what was really wrong. “I know about the cuts on your back—Kelsey told us they were there. But I didn’t realize how much they were bothering you.”
“What exactly did Kelsey tell you?”
“It was when you first got out of surgery. Kelsey came by your room and spoke to your parents, and Alex and me. She gave us a rundown of your injuries and mentioned you had a number of cuts—on your arm, side, and back,” Tate said before adding, “I’m sorry I hurt you.”
“You couldn’t have known.”
The silence stretched. “Are you okay now?”
“As okay as it gets.”
*
They both slept, tangled together for what proved to be the remainder of the flight, until the sound of the jet’s landing gear being lowered awoke Tate. Opening her eyes, she realized that she was holding Evan so close she couldn’t tell where she ended and Evan began.
That was nice. But even better, she could see that Evan slept on, her face more relaxed than it had been for some time, her breathing even, her mouth soft. She looked so young, so innocent even after all she had seen and done and been though. As Tate stared down into her sleeping face, she felt her heart catch.
Beyond the healing cuts and bruises, Evan was still—would always be—the most beautiful woman she had ever known. Deciding she deserved at least thirty seconds more to enjoy the view, she tilted her head back and continued to watch Evan sleep until, at last, she saw her begin to stir.
Evan floated to the surface very slowly, still dreaming about Tate. She was conscious of someone lying in the bed next to her and she fought an unshakeable sense of being trapped. Disoriented, she turned her head but quickly realized it was Tate who lay wrapped around her.
Slowly, her panic receded as she listened to the pilot advising them they were beginning their descent into Seattle.
“Hello, beautiful lady.” She stared at Tate for an instant longer. Saw her smile and then, slowly, she smiled back. It seemed impossible not to. “I don’t know if you’re real, or if I’m still dreaming. But if this is a dream, please don’t wake me.”
Tate’s smile widened at that. “I’m very real, love. And on a different occasion, I would be happy to prove that to you. But as much as I’m enjoying lying here with you, we really should start thinking about getting ready.”
“For what?”
“For landing.”
“That was fast.”
“You slept.”
That was a pleasant surprise. “I couldn’t have done it without you so thank you”—she touched Tate’s hand and shrugged helplessly—“and I’m sorry.”
Tate looked at her, ran the back of her fingers along Evan’s cheek. “It’s okay, Evan. I expect we’ll probably stumble a few times before we get it right.”
Evan closed her eyes for an instant. “I expect we will.”
When she opened her eyes, Tate was still smiling. “I’m not sure he told you, but Alex has arranged to have a private floatplane take us out to the island. More comfortable than a long drive or taking the ferry.”
“That’s good.”
“The only question is how long it’ll take to clear Customs. Any ideas?”
Evan arched a brow and shook her head.
“I think you’ve forgotten whose private jet you’re traveling in.” Her voice trailed off as she stretched her arms high to work out a dozen stiffened muscles. “We’re talking about the queen of connections and the king of control.”
Tate laughed at the descriptions.
“Laugh all you want, McKenna. It may have driven Alex and me crazy when we were kids, but clearing Customs should be a breeze.”
*
As evening faded into night, he trimmed a wire on the improvised explosive device he’d assembled, a device which would be used to detonate a truck filled with explosives. With his part of the job finished, he smiled at the two students who’d been watching him. Following his every move, taking meticulous notes.
Fools, he thought but didn’t let it show. Caught up in romantic notions of revolution and anarchy, they believed they’d be able to replicate what he’d done. He knew better, of course. Knew they’d be lucky if all they managed to do was lose a couple of fingers the first time they tried to duplicate the kind of magic he could create with his eyes closed.
But the splinter cell he’d hooked up with in Germany served a much-needed purpose, so he masked his disdain. Knowing that in return for building pipe bombs, tilt fuses, and other incendiary devices, they would provide him with the means to get back to America.
Running a hand through his recently shorn hair, Khalid walked away. The students forgotten, his thoughts immediately turned back to her. The pilot.
He had felt a first spark of connection without ever having seen her. But nothing could compare to what he’d felt the first time he’d cut her. The first time he’d made his knife sing as it sliced through her skin. The first time he’d heard her choke back her cry of pain and watched her blood drip from his blade.
He knew now he’d been wrong to try to see her in the hospital. He should have exercised more control. As it was, that bitch of a nurse, showing up when she did, had almost undone everything.
But the commander was in his blood, and the fear he had seen in her eyes had been more than worth the risk. He owned her. She was his. She’d know that soon enough if she didn’t already.
He smiled again, feeling better as he began to imagine how good it would feel the next time.
Chapter Twenty-two
“We’re almost home.”
From her seat, Evan heard the excitement in Alex’s voice as he leaned forward and watched the water rush by. A few minutes later, the pilot deftly maneuvered the aircraft up to the dock jutting out from the island. Adrenaline coursed through her as she gazed out the window at what would be her home for the foreseeable future while the ever present scent of the sea reached out to welcome her.
The plane bobbed slightly as the door was swung open and Nick was the first to jump down, moving quickly to tie off the mooring line. Tate and Alex exited close behind.
Evan hesitated, staring at the water lapping against the floatplane’s pontoons. Within the narrow confines of the plane, she’d been unable to use her crutches and she felt momentarily trapped. But by using the seat backs to support her weight, she slowly made her way to the open door.
“Come on, Evan. Grab hold of my hand.”
After the relative dimness of the plane’s interior, the sun immediately blinded her, hurting her eyes and forcing her to rely completely on Alex’s assistance. With a muttered curse, she steeled herself and did as Alex suggested. She reached out and grabbed his hand. Alex held her with a sure grip and in no time had her standing solidly on the long wooden pier. He produced a pair of Ray-Bans from his shirt pocket and slipped the sunglasses into place for her. He then tipped her chin up with a fingertip and examined her face closely.
“You doing okay?”
“I’m good.” After being cramped in the small plane, even for a short hop, it felt good to stand up and stretch. She gave him a smile meant to reassure and nodded to where Tate and Nick were busy unloading their baggage and groceries they’d picked up in Seattle from the plane. “Go help them. I’m okay here on my own. I promise.”
Of course, not a lot of what was being unloaded was hers, since she didn’t have much to call her own beyond the silky warm-up pants and T-shirt she was wearing and a couple of spares. But she wasn’t particularly worried.
Alex had promised he would drop by later with the clothing he’d been storing for her, including everything shipped home from the Nimitz. Among the flight suits and dress uniforms she would no longer need would be things she could use, including some of her favorite jeans and T-shirts.
Half listening as Nick and Tate teased Alex about something, she made her way to the end of the pier and onto a well-worn but not entirely crutch-friendly footpath that cut through the property. It led down to the dock from the house and appeared to follow the shoreline, veering and disappearing from view as it went around the point. She followed it with her eyes and determined she would explore its length before too long.
And oh, the house.
The house was everything she remembered. It had been custom designed to take advantage of the views through expansive windows in almost every room, as well as from the huge wraparound deck built out over the water on two sides. And the views, she knew, were truly spectacular, with the snowcapped Olympic Mountains providing a backdrop for the channels, inlets, estuaries, and islands that made up the Puget Sound waterways.
Pushing her sunglasses down her nose so she could get an unobstructed view, Evan drew in a deep breath. The air felt good against her skin and was scented with the clean fragrance of the cedar and pine trees as well as the salty tang of the sea.
Turning back toward the water, she looked out at the waves rolling gently onto the shore. Watched the working boats and pleasure boats go by. Time evaporated. There were no schedules to keep, no missions to fly. She could simply stand here and listen to the lap of the water against the rocks along the shore, or watch a bird—some kind of hawk, maybe an osprey, she wasn’t certain—as it flew just above the thick stand of trees near the waterline.
For the first time in a long time, she felt good. Surprisingly good. Almost at peace with herself. In the distance she could hear the distinctive sound of a ferryboat’s horn, but it in no way detracted from the quiet. It was peaceful here. Tranquil. No IEDs or bombs. No insurgents waiting to blow aircraft out of the sky. And no twisted sociopaths.
Tate had been right. The island was a bucolic paradise and would be the perfect place to heal.
Thinking of Tate, she turned once again to look for her and found her standing with Alex who had his arm swung around her shoulder. She liked seeing them together, liked witnessing the very real bond of affection that had developed between them.
Tate’s face was flushed and she was laughing, a sound Evan found particularly appealing. And she looked casually sexy, dressed in a pair of khaki shorts and a navy blue polo shirt. The slight breeze was stirring her collar-length hair and Evan paused in her perusal, admiring the way the sunlight brought out the varying shades of red and gold.
Conflicting emotions surged inside her, leaving her confused. She wanted to walk over to them. To be part of their laughter and share in their joy at coming home. She knew that was what Tate wanted.
But she was barely hanging on, and she knew Khalid was still out there. Waiting for the right moment to strike. How could she bring Khalid’s threat to Tate’s doorstep? For that matter, how could she bring the empty shell of the woman she once had been?
Tate deserved so much more than a woman who couldn’t make it through each day, let alone each night, without falling apart. A woman who couldn’t make love with her because she was afraid to discover sex—a primitive, primal response—was all she had left to give.
Tate looked up in that instant, suddenly aware Evan had been watching her. She waved and flashed a smile as she and Alex approached.
“How’re you doing?” she asked softly when she reached Evan’s side. “Ready to check out your new address?”
Evan felt a flash of panic, afraid Tate had
sensed the direction of her thoughts. But Tate smiled gently and Evan somehow managed a tentative smile in response before she turned and concentrated on the last stretch of the path that led to the house. “You lead the way and I’ll follow.”
They slowly made their way along the path, Tate occasionally glancing back over her shoulder. But Evan remained reassuringly close behind and something—Evan hoped it was the confident ease with which she was moving in spite of the crutches—stopped Tate from hovering or offering to help.
Once they reached the house, Tate unlocked the front door and deactivated the alarm system, and they both said their good-byes to Alex and Nick. They were borrowing Tate’s SUV to transport their luggage and groceries to their own home, a mile away as the crow flew. Both were anxious to get there after being away for so long.
Still, there had been a moment, just before he got into the passenger side, when Alex grabbed and held onto Evan’s arm with a none-too-steady hand. Leaning close, Evan brushed Alex’s hair out of his eyes. “You know I love you, right? And I’m not going anywhere. You need to go home and paint. I’ll be right here with Tate whenever you need me.”
“I know that. Otherwise, Tate will just have to go find you again and bring you back home.” Alex’s expression softened. “And I love you too.”
Watching Alex and Nick drive off, Evan shook her head fondly. “I’m surprised Alex lasted this long. I can’t remember when he’s been away from home for such an extended period of time, constantly surrounded by people, without being able to lose himself for a while in his painting. At least not since he was fifteen and going through the throes of his first crush on the local tennis pro.”
“He was totally lost when he thought you’d died. He said he’d literally lost a part of himself, and I think he’s a little afraid to let you out of his sight in case you disappear again.”
Evan didn’t know how to respond. She could also sense that Tate was anxious to show her this house—her home. Pushing everything else aside, she set a smile on her face and said, “Come on, beautiful lady. Show me your home.”