Closing my eyes, I try to tamp down the reaction still threatening. She’s a fighter, and I need to believe she’s capable of surviving this. It’s the only way I’m going to make it through.
All she wanted was to help wounded soldiers, to be her father’s daughter, and to set an example for our son.
Clearing my throat again, I nod toward the back door. Words escape me as he removes his grass-covered sneakers just as a cool breeze sweeps over the porch. Looking back at the swing, an eerie feeling envelops me, and for a split second the thought that she’ll never see it shakes me to my core.
“Come on buddy, let’s get you packed.”
Noah sits quietly in the back seat playing on his tablet as I drive toward his best friend’s house. It’s pouring down rain, and I’m doing everything I can to concentrate on driving and failing miserably. Thoughts racing, I’m choking on fear that refuses to let up. Extremists are ruthless, and far more radical than the Iraqi army. Katy’s never been in combat; she’s never been at the opposite end of a rifle. She served her first term stateside and got activated shortly after she re-enlisted.
She can’t handle this.
She won’t handle this.
Skidding to a stop at a sign I never miss, I check on Noah in the rearview. He glances up at me and rolls his eyes. “Careful, Captain.”
Pain radiates through my chest at the imitation of his mother’s favorite way of scolding me. Running my hands through my hair, I check the dash clock. Ten more minutes of driving and I’ll be free to react. Inside I know I should be clinging to my son for comfort, to draw strength, but the reality is, I can’t handle it myself. I’m hemorrhaging, and I don’t want him anywhere around when it breaches the surface.
Minutes later, I pull over into an abandoned church parking lot, making an excuse to Noah about a tire I need to check out.
I welcome the rain on my skin as it quickly soaks through my clothes. Air is scarce as I bend down to shield myself from innocent eyes. I’m failing him—I’m failing them both. Katy would be pissed if she knew just how much I was letting the fear win.
She is my mystery, my question, and answer, my wife, my reason for wanting a forever. From the minute she approached me at that crowded bar, I knew half of that truth.
“Excuse me. I was just wondering, on a scale from one to America, how free are you tonight?”
Stifling my grin, I take a sip of my beer and turn on my stool to face her, unprepared for what I see. She’s the quintessential American beauty: long, curly blonde hair, blue eyes, full lips, perfect tits, and subtle curves.
“Wo bist du hergekommen?” Where did you come from, beautiful?
She leans in, her face scrunched up in confusion. “I’m sorry, I thought you were someone else.” She glares at the woman sitting at the cocktail table behind her, then looks back at me. “Wait, you’re bullshitting me, right?”
“Sprichst du Deutsch?” Do you speak German?
“I’m sorry, I think I had you confused with someone else.”
I nod, trying to maintain a steady face. “Have a good night, Soldier.”
Cheeks flaming, she pauses in her retreat and turns to me with a beaming smile. “Jesus, I feel like a fool.”
“With a line like that, you should.”
“Would it have killed you to be flattered?”
I shake my head, taking another sip of my beer. “Would it have killed you to use a little more imagination?”
“You’re going to make me work for it, huh?”
I swallow as she purses her beautiful lips. I have no business egging her on. This woman obviously has no clue who I am.
“Why not?” I shrug. “I’m sure you’ve done your fair share of making them sweat.”
“Wow.” She motions to the bartender, who doesn’t even have to ask her order, setting her shot and beer down in front of her. She throws back the shot and then sips from her beer before taking a deep breath and turning back toward me with a sly grin.
“Baby, if you were words on a page, you’d be what they call fine print.”
I shake my head, biting back a smile.
“Tough crowd.” She clears her throat, her eyes sliding down my frame as she speaks.
“Damn, did you sit in a pile of sugar? ’Cause you have a pretty sweet ass.”
Standing, I pull out my wallet, and she lets out a hard breath. “You’re kidding, right? You’re about to cost me a hundred bucks.”
“Sorry, I’m holding out for more.”
This time she bursts into laughter as she eyes me.
“Well, I certainly hope she has better game than me, or that you remove that stick from your ass before she approaches you.”
She lays a twenty on the bar and speaks to the bartender. “His beer is on me.”
When she moves to join her friend, I say five words that change my life. “Do you want to dance?”
Chapter Twelve
Katy
Darkness seeps in as warmth trickles between my lips. I start to succumb to the sweet relief of pitch black but get ripped away by the feel of knuckles against my cheek. Aggravated I’m unable to make my escape, I attempt to open my eyes just as another blow lands across my temple. Ears ringing and dazed by the blinding pain, I’m brought fully conscious by a bruising kick to the ribs.
“Astayqiz al’amrikia!”
Omph.
Another kick.
Agony.
I bite my bleeding lips to stifle my scream. I don’t want to give these assholes the satisfaction. I spent twenty hours in labor without meds. So far, they haven’t come close to touching that marathon. But I know acting cavalier is the quickest way to give it away. My chest rumbles with my slow exhale, and I choke on the mix of bile and blood lodged in my throat.
I’m fairly certain I have a distal radius fracture, a few broken ribs, and now I can add a broken nose to that list. Sustainable and healable injuries. I can deal with it.
Soldier up, Katy. It’s just the beginning. God, if you’re listening, I could use a hand today, maybe two if you’re feeling generous.
“Astayqiz al’amrikia! Astayqiz!”
“Wake up, sister.” A soft hand smooths the hair from my forehead, and still, I remain mute while blood drips down my chin. I make no move to wipe it, in hopes the sight of it may bring them some satisfaction and buy me a little reprieve. I open my eyes and survey my surroundings. We’re encased by sandstone. I’m in a bunker and judging from the four-foot gap above, we’re about twelve feet down. Nothing about these surroundings surprises me. It’s a nightmare I’ve watched unfold over and over again in the media, a nightmare that happens to other soldiers.
Another blow to the side of the face has me mewling.
“Stop! You’re going to fucking kill her!”
Briggs.
Relief filters through me, though I mask my elation at the sound of his voice. Any show of emotion concerning Briggs makes him a weakness. I swallow the blood and phlegm I can’t manage to spit out. I’m already exhausted with the painful position I’m in—arms and legs bound, rope cutting into my aching wrists. I desperately want to move to get away from the pain, but it’s inescapable. Seductive darkness beckons again, and I sway in its direction, in the easy escape.
“I’ll kill you,” I hear in a thick Iraqi brogue, and that is enough for me to force my eyes to open.
It’s dark, and I have to blink a few times to adjust to the lack of light. Black eyes command mine from a foot away. Bearded men dressed in black surround him in the small cavity. If I’m trusting my own perception, there are ten of them.
“Shhh, you tell them, sister. They will stop. Please, tell them.” I turn my head toward the gentle voice in my ear and am met by a tiny woman. She wears a black abaya, and her head is almost completely covered. All that’s visible are her dark brown eyes. Kind, sympathetic eyes.
She’s a liar, Katy.
“So beautiful,” she whispers, lifting a curl from the crown of my head and letting it glide through her fingertips. “You do as he says…you live. My husband likes pretty eyes.” She nods at me, and the corners of her mouth lift in a smile that infuriates me.