Authors: Laura Taylor
She shivered, suddenly aware that the old adage—only the strong survive—would undoubtedly be tested in the hours and days ahead. Emma offered a silent prayer that she would find the strength within herself to endure the hour to hour uncertainty of imprisonment.
"You may be untested, but you don’t strike me as the baby type. Besides, if you’ve survived the hotspots I think you have, starvation rations and filth won’t take you down."
"I hope you’re right." She rubbed at the gooseflesh on her arms, shivering beneath her cape. "I really hope you’re right, because I certainly wouldn’t want to become the weak link on this team."
Unable to sleep despite the late hour, David listened to the sporadic bursts of gunfire from automatic weapons and the periodic grenade explosions that punctuated the night. He no longer felt alarmed by the sounds of violence, just a weary kind of resignation at what passed for normal in so much of the Middle East.
He suspected that the skirmishes between troops loyal to the government and the various political factions that controlled segments of the capital would continue until the country’s dictator was overthrown and replaced by elected officials. Until then he expected to remain a prisoner, a potential bargaining chip to be used, or perhaps eventually disposed of, depending upon the ever–shifting political winds of this part of the world.
He exhaled heavily and closed his large hands into fists, frustration gnawing on his nerves as he racked his brain yet again for a means of escape. Barring a minor miracle, he already knew that no successful route existed. Diplomacy would be his sole savior, even if he preferred and prayed for a covert military op. But nothing could happen unless someone even knew he was still alive.
Restless and on edge, David abandoned his pallet and paced. He allowed himself the luxury of thinking about his family for a few moments, although he understood how self–destructive it was to linger on the emotional stress his missing–in–action status had to be inflicting on his mother and sister. Deeply concerned about them, he knew they wouldn’t give up hope and wouldn’t stop praying for his safe return.
He shifted his thoughts to Emma Hamilton, and he experienced once gain the unexpected hunger she aroused in him. He didn’t know the reasons for her imprisonment. He simply assumed that she’d been in the wrong place at the wrong time. He intended to learn the facts, but he wanted to give her time to adjust to the situation before he broached the subject with her.
Emma.
Not a common or contemporary name, he mused, but he already knew that she possessed uncommon qualities. He’d heard the compassion and gentleness in her voice, as well as her understandable fear. He also sensed her warmth, and he silently craved a large dose of it for himself.
An air–raid siren screamed in the distance as David paused at the thick wall that separated their cells. He pressed both hands flat against the rough–textured surface, as though to absorb the essence of her for a few moments. Pressing his forehead to the wall, he closed his eyes and whispered, "Emma." He savored the very sound of her name.
He half smiled as he recalled her genuine outrage that he’d been harmed by their captors. She brought to mind the image of a fierce, spitting feline. She also renewed his hunger for laughter and sex, although he grasped the futility of wishing to satisfy that latter, more elemental impulse.
Still, he wanted to hold her, to soothe her with more than words. He also longed to be soothed and satisfied by her, to lose himself, however briefly, in what he felt certain would be her consuming, burning heat. Desire hardened his body, and he breathed a low, lethal–sounding word as he struggled with his frustration.
Because their alliance was founded on uncertainty and fear of the unknown, and because of a man named Sam, he couldn’t expect anything more than friendly conversation from Emma Hamilton, even if the dense wall of mortar and stone blocks separating them somehow magically disappeared.
He groaned quietly and threw back his head. Unable to dismiss the desire flowing relentlessly through him and infusing his imagination, he wondered how he could feel so hotly aroused by the voice of a woman he’d never even seen. But what little he knew about Emma prompted him to imagine her as a shapely, slim–limbed woman of medium height with yards and yards of long, coal–black hair.
Her voice hinted at her age. Twenty–five, no more than thirty. Her skin had to be sun–kissed and as soft as satin. He tortured himself with thoughts of what it would be like to trace the curves and hollows of her body, to linger at pink–tipped breasts that would fill his hands and seduce his lips before his fingertips traveled lower to measure the width of her rounded hips.
Trembling, he jerked away from the barrier that separated him from Emma and began to pace his cell again. He couldn’t allow himself to indulge in such fantasies. He tried to force himself to ignore his awareness of her, but he failed. Miserably.
Lost in thought, David flinched when he heard Emma’s cry of distress. He paused in mid–stride, tension straightening his spine and tightening every muscle in his body.
Emma screamed again, the sound chilling David’s blood. Had she lied to him? Had the guards or interrogators done more than shove her around and question her for endless hours?
"Help me," she moaned in her sleep.
"Emma! Wake up. You’re having a nightmare."
"Help me," she pleaded.
David gripped the iron bars of his cell and called out, "Emma, listen to me. I can’t get to you. You have to wake up on your own. Fight the nightmare, and wake yourself up. Do it now!" he ordered.
She continued to groan and mumble.
David couldn’t make out the words. "Emma! Come on, babe, fight the nightmare," he coaxed, his voice steady despite his worry that she would draw the attention of the guards. "Fight back, Emma. Do it for me, please. Don’t give in to your fear." He paused to gauge the impact of his words.
"I’m… alright," she finally gasped.
"Talk to me. It’ll help."
"I can’t."
He heard her sobbing and understood how alone she felt. Still gripping the iron bars, he said, "I’d hold you if I could."
"I… I warned you I’d be a big baby."
"You’re not a baby."
"You’re just trying to make me feel better."
"I wouldn’t lie to you, Emma."
"I woke you, didn’t I?"
"I wasn’t asleep. I think I’ve turned into an insomniac since I’ve been in here."
"Is it always so dark?" she asked.
David recalled how much the constant darkness had bothered him at first. He empathized. She still had so much to learn about captivity.
"I’m afraid so."
She sighed, the sound sad enough to make a grown man weep. David very nearly did, and then he swore at the circumstances that thwarted him from holding and comforting her.
"I was having a nightmare."
"I suspected as much."
"I’m really sorry."
"No sweat, Emma. It happens. I didn’t sleep too well my first few nights in here either."
"You’re so damned patient and understanding!" she charged, her emotions seesawing back and forth.
"Is there another choice?" he asked in a voice as hard as granite. He couldn’t let her tumble into an ocean of self–pity. He knew the risk of drowning in it.
"Sam would approve of you."
"I take it that wasn’t a compliment," David teased, although the mere mention of the man in her life set his teeth on edge.
"As superior as Sam can be, I miss him."
He sidestepped the dismay her remark inspired. "Focus on getting out of here and going home to him."
Sounding bewildered, she asked, "Why would I go home to Sam? He lives in Paris, and I live in San Diego. Besides, it’ll be a cold day in hell before I admit to my brother that I got myself arrested in a foreign country. I’d never hear the end of it."
Brother? David felt a wave of relief slam into him. Sam wasn’t her lover.
"Take a deep breath, why don’t you? You’ve had a nightmare, but you’re okay now. You’re probably feeling a little disoriented at the moment, but that’s perfectly natural."
"David?"
He heard her uncertainty, and he ached to gather her into his arms. "I’m here," he assured her. "Did you save some of the water the guard brought with your meal?"
He waited for her to respond. A minute of silence passed. David felt his patience flee in the face of his concern for her well being. "Answer me, Emma. Your head doesn’t rattle when you shake it, so I don’t know when, or if, you’re nodding."
"Yes!" she snapped, obviously stung by his criticism. "I saved some of the water. That’s what you told me to do, so I did it."
"Good girl," David said. "Have a sip and then move around your cell. Exercise is the key to your survival and your sanity. I wasn’t kidding about that when we talked earlier. Your brain will go mushy on you if you let your body get weak."
"I’m not some brainless twit who doesn’t have the sense to come in out of the rain. Furthermore, I’m not a girl," she flared, her footsteps punctuating each word as she briskly paced back and forth in her cell. "I’m twenty–six years of age. I own my own home, I vote, I can legally drink myself into a stupor if the spirit moves me, and I’m old enough to use good judgment where men, sex, and condoms are concerned. Any more questions,
Major
Winslow?"
He smiled, feeling absurdly proud of her outburst. He knew now that she wasn’t caving in over a bad dream. "No questions at the moment, babe, but don’t stop moving around that cell. I want to hear your footsteps."
"You’re starting to remind me of a nun I used to know," she complained as she kept pacing.
"Talk while you walk, Emma. Tell me what you’re feeling right now."
She ignored him. "We called her Sister Mary Drill Instructor. She was not my favorite person."
He chuckled. "How are you feeling?"
"Furious. Absolutely furious."
"Of course, you are," he agreed. "That’s normal. Use your anger, Emma. Make it work for you, babe. I know you can do it."
She made a noise that sounded like an unladylike snort. "If you don’t stop calling me
babe
, I may deck you just for the hell of it."
He laughed again. "Be my guest, babe."
"Don’t you dare make fun of me."
He smothered the laughter that rumbled through his chest and shook his broad shoulders. "Stay mad, Emma. I don’t mind being used for target practice."
His humor slowly waned, and he didn’t prod her when she fell silent. Instead, he leaned against the bars of his cell and pondered Emma Hamilton’s feisty nature. Desire throbbed steadily in his loins, and he allowed himself to speculate on the passion she would bring to a lover.
"David?" she said a few minutes later.
Roughly shoving his hands through hair that had grown far longer than was acceptable to any self–respecting, spit–and–polish Marine Corps officer, he roused himself from his insane fantasies. "You can’t believe that this has happened to you, can you?"
Startled, she asked, "How do you always know what I’m thinking?"
"I will
never
forget my first few days in here," David responded bitterly. "Never."
He recalled the pain of countless beatings, as well as his constant fear that he wouldn’t survive the torture or the mind–numbing isolation of imprisonment. Exhaling quietly, he cleared away the vivid memories by the sheer force of his will.
"Emma, what in hell are you doing in this war–ravaged country?"
"I told you. I’m a caseworker for Child Feed. We supply food, clothing, and medical care to children displaced by war or natural disasters. Following the cease–fire in the capital, a team of doctors and nurses arrived to set up refugee camps. Since we’re a multinational aid group, we frequently work under the auspices of the United Nations."
Pleased that he’d found a way to distract her, David indulged his own curiosity about her work. "How did you happen to become involved with the organization?"
"My dad’s a pediatrician. He helped to found Child Feed almost twenty years ago after a trip to India. My mother does an annual fundraiser for Child Feed. She owns an art gallery in San Diego, so she comes into contact with a lot of wealthy types with fairly strong humanitarian instincts. Sam used to work with us, but he’s with the State Department now. My younger sister’s a nurse, and she periodically donates her time, too."
"Sounds like you’re all very dedicated," he mused thoughtfully.
"We are, but only because we want to be. Dad never put any pressure on us. I didn’t get involved until I finished college, and even then I didn’t intend to make it a permanent arrangement. It just worked out that way."
"Why?" David asked.
She responded with candor. "I saw the condition of the children in some of the Africa camps during a tour with my dad about five years ago. When a little girl… probably no more than five… died in my arms from malnutrition during that trip, I knew I couldn’t walk away, so I decided to pitch in and help. It felt like the right decision when I made it, and my feelings haven’t changed."
"Even now?"
He heard the sigh that escaped her as she considered his question. He sensed what her response would be, but he wanted the satisfaction of hearing her say the words that would confirm his initial estimation of her character.
"Even now," she answered.
"I like you, Emma Hamilton. You’ve got grit."
"I don’t know about grit, but I like you, too."
"I don’t understand why the authorities picked you up. It’s obvious you’re no threat to the government."
"I was checking the status of one of our camps when my driver told me he had a personal emergency. He promised to return in plenty of time to take me to the airport for my flight home. I was so busy at the last camp I was visiting, I didn’t think anything about his absence until I discovered that he’d stolen all of my travel documents, including my passport and my cell phone, and nearly all of my money."
"And then?" he prompted.
"I decided to return to the capital city when I finished my report. I have a good friend who works for the Canadian embassy. I knew Mary would be willing to help me secure new travel papers and loan me the money for an airline ticket to Paris. Since Sam works there, I knew he could facilitate a temporary U.S. passport at our embassy. I was only a few blocks from Mary’s house when I was stopped and detained by the secret police." She sighed. "Now, we’re neighbors."