Ernesto, between Serrano and Ibarra on her left, was just beginning to lift his trembling arm, his long forefinger stretched out to point. He was going to single out someone in the room.
Daniel was just coming into the dining room through the east end arches, from the foyer. Ernesto was looking at him.
Olivia threw her cup onto the tiles with all her might.
The ceramic mug exploded like a small hand grenade, sending china fragments and steaming spiced coffee splattering in all directions for dozens of feet, making those around her scream or gasp and jump backward, sideways, or up out of the way.
Every head immediately turned in her direction. Guns were cocked and aimed.
“I am so sick of fucking spiced coffee!” she screamed. “I can’t stand it anymore. All day, every day. Day in. Day out. When can we get decent American coffee? This…this…shit you’re serving takes paint off walls!” She waved toward the big urn of normal coffee that everyone had mostly learned to avoid.
She pushed a hand up against her temple as if she was delicate and stressed. She didn’t have to work too hard to make it look convincing, because her hand really was trembling. “What about waffles or something for breakfast? Or some real protein and vegetables instead of this constant garbage you keep serving up? Weeks of it….” She gave a shaky laugh. “We’re all gonna die of scurvy at this rate!”
Serrano was staring at her, his little eyes narrowed. He had shown no other reaction to her outburst. He had been one of the few who hadn’t jumped when she’d thrown the cup.
Ernesto’s arm was back by his side.
She needed more out of Serrano, though. Olivia stamped her foot. “I want fruit and vegetables, dammit! I want real food. I’m going crazy eating all this crap you keep serving! I can’t exercise, I can’t walk anywhere. I’m like a mouse in a lab, I’m stewing in my own juices.”
Someone touched her arm gently. She threw the arm off. Serrano was still just watching her. She needed him to come after her. Perhaps only a direct attack would do it. That was what it had taken yesterday. When they had thought she was attacking him, they had reacted.
Olivia drew in a shaking breath and lifted her finger to point at Serrano. “And you, you hypocritical asshole—”
Someone yanked on her elbow. “Shut up now, Olivia.” It was Jenny’s voice. She was speaking German. Olivia pulled her arm out of Jenny’s frantic grip.
Serrano jerked his head at Ibarra, who strode toward Olivia.
At last.
Olivia pointed at Serrano again. “You’re such a fine and upstanding leader you can’t even arrange diplomatic status for a single tiny island. You’re fucking useless!”
The collective in-drawn breath of shock was louder this time, because everyone did it. It was punctuated by Ibarra’s gun cocking as he put it against Olivia’s temple.
The steel rim was cold and hard. It felt huge. She kept quite still.
Serrano smiled. “Do you have anything else to say?” he asked softly.
Olivia stayed silent.
“Oh, but you will say something,” Serrano assured her. “You will tell me so many things…Olivia.” He spoke her name like a caress.
He jerked his head again.
Ibarra’s fingers pulled on her upper arm and she was just about yanked off her feet as he hauled her across the floor between the tables.
Olivia didn’t fight it. She had known exactly what she was courting when she smashed the cup down.
Better her than Daniel.
He was still standing by the arches as Ibarra force-marched her into the foyer. His face was completely still and utterly neutral. But he was breathing hard and his hands were thrust deep into both pockets.
She knew both his hands were curled into fists inside his pockets.
Olivia let herself get spun and shoved by Ibarra’s grip on her upper arm in such a way that she cannoned into Daniel as she passed. She touched his wrist. A fleeting squeeze. It was all she dared. She didn’t look at his face again. His flesh was warm. Alive.
As she stood like a cowed, scared woman in the foyer, waiting for the elevator, her head bowed, her gaze on the white marble tiles, her thoughts coalesced around that few seconds’ sight she’d had of Daniel’s face.
The meaning for all her odd thoughts before breakfast and her instinctive actions just now came together in a clear, understandable, painful rush. She loved him. It wasn’t some schoolgirl instant crush, come today, gone tomorrow. She loved Daniel with bone-deep intensity. The sort of simple yet profound love that simply was. An unquestioning love that could and would move mountains.
“Fuck,” she murmured to herself, barely moving her lips. She had done exactly what she had predicted she would do and the most dangerous thing she could do with Daniel Castle—Daniel Alejandro Castellano, actually. Jesus, she even loved his real name. It rolled off her tongue like music or fine wine.
A Vistarian. She’d fallen in love with a Vistarian. One of the most romantic, hardworking, honorable and tradition-loving races left on earth.
God help her.
Ibarra pushed her into the waiting elevator. “You picked the wrong time to complain about the food, woman,” he growled. “Serrano will have you singing like a bird about everything and everyone you know.”
She kept her face still and her gaze at her feet, fighting to hide a smile. Little did he know. They could use thumbscrews, rape her and torture her to death. It didn’t matter. Nothing on earth would make her give up Daniel to them. She would protect him with her life. Didn’t they understand love at all?
* * * * *
Daniel managed to walk over and sit at one of the tables and look relatively normal doing it. Luckily, he wasn’t the only one in the room showing signs of shock.
Serrano was watching him and Daniel fought hard not to stare back. There had been at least three others entering the dining area at the same time as him. Two of them were males. If Ernesto had needed to point out which of the hostages was the one he thought was not the British businessman, then Serrano had no idea which of the males in the group it could possibly be.
Olivia had just covered his ass at the possible cost of her own.
His vision swam gray as he stared at the white tablecloth. He realized that he had been holding his breath to the point where he had nearly passed out. White flecks flitted across his vision. He forced himself to breathe again, fighting the need to hyperventilate to recuperate.
Serrano would notice that, too.
No one came near him. No one spoke to him.
After a while Daniel made himself get up and move stiffly to the end of the short and silent line of people moving around the waiters cleaning up the mess of china shards and cold spiced coffee. They were getting breakfast, for lack of anything else to do. But they were doing it with a marked lack of enthusiasm.
After ten minutes, Serrano and his personal guard moved out of the dining room toward the foyer and the elevators, taking Ernesto with them.
Tension in the dining room perceptively eased, but Daniel’s gut tightened and the nausea returned.
Serrano had gone to question Olivia.
He left the line and sat in the nearest chair. It didn’t shock him a great deal to see his hand was shaking as he pushed it through his hair.
“She stopped Ernesto from identifying you, didn’t she?” It was Jenny’s voice.
Daniel forced himself to look up at the girl. “I hardly know her,” he said offhandedly. “She’s not my type.”
Jenny’s smile was sour. “You don’t have a type. I learned that much from my two nights in your bed and now I’ve just figured out why. You’re playing some sort of role, so you don’t pick according to what you really like. You pick your women to suit your agenda.”
Daniel shook his head a little. “I don’t play roles in bed, Jenny.”
Jenny’s smile was tremulous. “Maybe not.” She grimaced. “But no wonder nothing touches y
our emotions. You’ve got too many layers in the way.”
“I never made any promises,” he told her, trying to keep his tone gentle.
“Yeah, that’s what they all say, honey.”
Daniel mentally winced. It didn’t help that more than half his mind was tied up imagining what was happening to Olivia right now and that was making him feel like he wanted to ram his fist through the table, or beat the crap out of someone, or a dozen violent or deadly actions…all of them exactly the sort of stupid, high-risk stunts that would bring him the sort of attention that Olivia had just risked her life to divert away from him.
So he clenched the arm of the chair instead and looked up at Jenny’s pale brown eyes. She wasn’t being sarcastic or cynical. He realized that she was tired and scared. There was a quiet strength in her face he’d never noticed before. It was in the eyes. There was fear there but there was an underlying determination, too.
Anyone would tend to acquire mature wisdom fast around here.
“I’ve underestimated you,” he said.
“I know.” The corner of her mouth lifted a little.
“I’m sorry.”
“Okay.” She shrugged.
“I mean for all of it,” he said. He took a breath. “You’re right, Jenny. Olivia took the heat off me. I’m playing a role, one that would get me summarily executed if Serrano knew what lies beneath.”
Jenny drew in a slow, steadying breath. “Thank you,” she said. She flicked her gaze toward the foyer where Olivia had been dragged away. “If they break Olivia, they’ll have what they want—an American as leverage to negotiate with the United States and the United Nations. They’ll put a gun to her temple and threaten to shoot. If they do that, you’ll have to watch and know that you put her in that position.”
Daniel could feel his fingers cramping around the chair arm. “You have a good grasp of the situation. Thank you for the summary.” He couldn’t help the note of sarcasm.
“I hope you figure the price is worth it, Daniel.” Jenny smiled brightly at him and moved away.
He watched her stroll back to the breakfast line and pick up a tray. She seemed carefree. She even started chatting with the person ahead of her in the line, which was moving at treacle speed.
Then he couldn’t stand it any longer. He strode from the room, his heart shuddering in his chest and his pulse thundering in his temples. He had to leave or have a screaming hysterical fit right there at that empty table.
The resemblance to Olivia’s fake tantrum would have been uncanny, only his would be the real deal.
* * * * *
It was bad right from the start.
They led her into a room with an unadorned concrete floor that had a drain in the far corner and a single old-fashioned metal chair with thick squared slats sitting in the middle of it. The chair was battered and the paint so worn it was simply silvered metal. It looked like it had taken a lot of abuse.
There was a bank of narrow windows far up by the ceiling along the back wall. The glass in them was frosted and had wire running horizontally and vertically through it. Dark shadows crossed the windows, hinting at bars on the other side. Some of the panes were broken and she could see the bars themselves—gray, unpainted metal, some of it rusty.
Heavy metal tracks were bolted into the ceiling of the room, running along the back and one side, in a curved “L” shape. Locked into the racks were very heavy gauge iron hooks on pulleys that could roll along the full length of the tracks.
She’d seen the hooks before, but her fear blanketed her thought processes and it took her a moment to recognize them. Meat hooks. This was a butchering room for full carcasses. It seemed appropriate.
Two soldiers stood against the other wall with their submachine guns slung. They’d looked bored until she was thrust into the room, when they straightened up with a spark of interest in their eyes.
Ibarra dumped her on the metal chair. It was cold against her body, even through her shirt and trousers. She fought to keep her panic at bay and contained. All she had to hang on to was twin challenges. She must not tell them her full name and she must not betray Daniel.
She smiled at Ibarra. “So, been demoted to Serrano’s gopher, huh?”
His face darkened. The blow seemed to come out of nowhere and she found herself on the concrete, her head ringing and her hip throbbing from taking the impact of her fall.
Hands yanked her back into the chair again.
She could barely focus on Ibarra. Her sight wouldn’t come together. When she finally had him in her vision he smiled at her, showing yellow teeth.
He hit her again. This time she saw his shoulder move and knew the blow was coming. It didn’t help. His fist hit under her ear and lifted her off the chair and sent her sprawling almost up against the feet of the two armed guards, who didn’t move a muscle.
She let herself lie there, scrambling to recover her senses.
There was a scrape of metal on concrete. Olivia lifted her head just enough to sight over her out-flung arm. She blinked until her vision swam into focus.
Ibarra had turned the chair around to face her. He settled on it and crossed his legs, so that the shiny toe of his boot pointed at her. She could see grit and blue metal stones stuck in the waffle tread of his boot, from the compound outside.
He crossed his arms. “Your fit of hysterics came at a very interesting moment, Ms. Olivia. It was such interesting timing that we have to wonder if the timing was deliberate.”
“God, you really are paranoid,” she told him, her voice low.
“We shall see,” Ibarra replied coolly. “If we are wrong and you really were so…how do you say it? ‘Strung out?’ If you are strung out simply about the food we offer here, then by the time we are finished with you, you will be so willing to find a way to halt our little session that you will be willing to agree to any bargain to make it stop. You will gladly tell us your full name and confirm what we suspect—that you are, indeed, a United States citizen.”
“Don’t hold your breath on that one,” she said, closing her eyes.
“Oh, I don’t intend to hold my breath about anything,” Ibarra told her, standing up. “I won’t be here.”
The door to the room opened again, causing Olivia to open her eyes to check what was happening. The throbbing in her head and hip was starting to recede.
Serrano stepped into the room. For such a big man, Olivia thought, he moved very quietly. There was just the squeak of leather from his boots.
She shivered.
Ibarra smiled at her. “Adieu,” he wished her.
Serrano shoved the chair into the far corner. He studied her as he took off his cap and tie and tossed them out the door. “Lock the door,” he ordered.
The door slammed and there was a heavy thud of metal ramming home.
“Did Ibarra tell you what questions we want answered?” Serrano asked her. His accent was heavier than Ibarra’s.
She had to swallow as her mouth suddenly filled with coppery-tasting spit. “Yes,” she said. She was afraid to nod in case her head began to throb again.
“Good,” Serrano said shortly. “It will stop me from repeating myself. When you are ready, you may answer at any time.”
He grabbed the back of her shirt, lifted her up and began to hit her.
Serrano knew how to hit and he was strong but he didn’t use more than his fists and hands. Olivia finally realized that Serrano wanted someone who would look human and fairly untouched on television. As soon as she figured that out, she was able to marginally relax and ride out the punches, the slaps, the blows and the psychological tricks he tried on her.
He ripped her clothing off and threatened to let his soldiers have her, but when she let him see her indifference, he let the threat slide.
But he didn’t let her put her clothing back on.
Olivia shrugged and acted as if she were fully clothed anyway, knowing it would bother them more if she
didn’t cringe or try to cover herself up.
She had no idea how long the questioning lasted, but knew it was many hours, for daylight waned in the windows.
She gave them nothing, not even her full name and reveled in Serrano’s barely suppressed fury.
Serrano’s last round of questioning accompanied being kicked around the floor. Olivia braced herself, clenching her muscles to ride out the blows as much as she could, but Serrano was a heavy man. The final kick landed in the soft tissues of her stomach and buried deep. Despite not having eaten for hours, she felt her internal organs rebel. She vomited and managed to turn her head so that some of the disgusting stuff she brought up landed on Serrano’s shiny black boots.
He hopped out of the way with a soft curse in Spanish.
Ibarra, who had returned briefly to check on progress, said, “Remember they have to be able to walk on their own two feet.”
Olivia tried not to react. She had managed to avoid letting them know she knew any Spanish beyond the most basic words.
She looked down at the pile of puke she’d vomited up. No blood. No permanent damage. So far.
But her regurgitation had another side effect she hadn’t anticipated. Serrano slammed his way out of the interrogation room. “Get her out of here!” he yelled in Spanish. “I’m sick of this mindless questioning. We’re not getting anything out of her. Dump her back in her room. We’ll go back to the lanky Spaniard instead and this time I want him to give us an American. A name, this time. No stupid pointing and maybes!”
Olivia lay on the filthy floor, regaining her breath. She realized she’d won because Serrano was squeamish about sickness. He could torture people and shoot them. But sick people sent him running.
She’d protected Daniel and managed to stay alive, too. Wow.
* * * * *
Ibarra gave her back her clothes to wear, although there really wasn’t much of them left to put back on. She didn’t want to put clothes on at all. She was filthy dirty and her hair was hanging in snarls and tangles around her shoulders. But she couldn’t walk through the halls of the hotel naked, although she knew that if it had been Serrano rather than Ibarra, he would have made her do just that.
Blue Knight Page 14
