Stepbrother X3

by Stephanie Brother

  When he was stitched up, he insisted they go to his mother right then. Anya ignored the protests of the other aid workers, knowing the mother was probably the only person left in the young boy’s life, and she couldn’t leave the woman and her baby to die in childbirth if they could be saved.

  Tom and Etienne had shared her conviction, so the three of them headed out on foot. Vehicles might actually attract more attention as they ventured into a part of the city still strongly under the control of Anti-Balaka forces despite public claims by the peacekeepers to the contrary.

  She was almost surprised to find their progress unimpeded. Perhaps the white uniforms they wore, all bearing the medical logo of their organization, bought them safe passage. The scrubs had gotten her out of trouble a few times before—as had the silver cross she wore prominently around her neck on the advice of Etienne, who had been in the country since almost the start of the fighting between Séléka and Anti-Balaka.

  The boy led them to a modest house at the end of a street. Several of the surrounding homes had toppled over or bore signs of the heavy fighting that had taken place before French and Rwandan peacekeepers intervened, later followed by the current U.N. peacekeeping force.

  She should be inured to such sights by now, since the country was nowhere close to recovering from the devastating civil war instigated by outside influences and fueled by religious differences. It still shook her to imagine the terrible life this child must endure, and she had to fight back a wave of pity for the baby soon to enter the world in such circumstances—if she could do anything to prevent its and its mother’s deaths.

  The physician in their group had left Bangui weeks ago, declaring his presence no longer necessary despite the continuing glaring need for aid. Her organization had offered her a transfer, but she had chosen to stay, as had a small contingency of workers and volunteers.

  The door creaked when the boy opened it, allowing them to slip inside first. As she passed him, the fear in his eyes transmitted to her, making the hairs on the back of her neck stand up and causing her to freeze. “Something isn’t right,” she whispered to Tom and Etienne.

  Before either man could respond, a blinding spotlight stole their vision. She blinked, barely able to make out a gathering of forms at the periphery of the light. “Please let us pass. We’re here to help this boy’s mother.”

  The spotlight dimmed and angled to the left, but it was still too bright, making it difficult to discern the features of the person who stepped into the circle of illumination. Anya’s eyes watered as she blinked fiercely to adjust, finally able to discern the tall, thin person was in fact a woman. She frowned, because this woman wasn’t pregnant.

  The woman spoke sharply to the boy in Sango, and he darted forward through the light and past the perimeter to disappear into the shadows on the other side of the house. Her voice was cold and clipped when she spoke to them in French. “You are the doctor?”

  She hesitated, licking her lips.

  “Yes or no?” The woman angled a worn-looking rifle at them, focusing on Etienne. “You are doctor man?”

  He shook his head slowly. “I specialize in procuring supplies, madam.”

  Her gun angled to Tom next. “You a doctor man?”

  Tom shook his head. “I’m a public health specialist, but not a medical doctor.”

  Anya tried not to tremble when the barrel of the rifle faced her. It looked huge from her perspective, and she knew intimately what a bullet could do to a body after her months with the humanitarian organization, first in Darfur, and now C.A.R. When the other woman asked if she was a doctor, she put up her hands slowly. “We don’t have a physician any longer, but I’m a nurse.”

  The woman said something that sounded ugly and angry. Perhaps a curse. The gun didn’t waver in its aim. “Come with me, nurse.” She spat the title as though it were distasteful to her.

  She hurried to comply, darting a glance over her shoulder in time to see several young men converging on her colleagues. “Please don’t harm them.”

  “We will see, nurse.” The woman gave her a grin that held no mirth while stretching her dark skin over her skeletal face.

  “How long has the mother been in labor?”

  The woman laughed. “There is no mother in labor, foolish nurse.” She shoved Anya into a room illuminated with a similar spotlight system, though the angle was pointed away from the figure on the bed. “There is our leader. You will save him, or…” With a large smile, the woman removed a wickedly sharp machete from her belt and mimicked drawing it across her own throat.

  “What’s wrong with him?” She asked the question with trepidation, knowing if it was anything like cancer or something chronic and serious, she and her friends were already dead.

  “He was shot by Séléka dogs.” She clutched her gris-gris and murmured a prayer that seemed to call for the eradication of all Muslims from the country, along with painful burning deaths for the peacekeepers.

  Yeah, that wasn’t at all daunting. Anya gulped to clear the lump in her throat and approached the man lying on the bed. As she neared, the woman angled the light so she could see better, revealing the still form of a thin African man with a grayish tinge to his skin. Her hand trembled when she reached for his wrist to check his pulse, convinced she would discover him already dead.

  Relief swamped her when she found a thready pulse. Medical training took over, and she began assessing her patient, knowing she wasn’t just saving this man’s life. Her life and the lives of her fellow aid workers depended on her performing emergency surgery under these conditions to dig out a bullet or two from a violent criminal.

  No pressure.

  2

  “You’re out of your mind if you think I’m sitting on the sidelines, Colonel Miwanga.” Cade ran a frustrated hand through his overly long hair, having reached the end of his patience. Hell, he’d reached the end of that about ten minutes after learning Anya had been kidnapped by Anti-Balaka forces.

  He still remembered sitting in the mess tent, eating the thing that passed for food that day, as the only television on the makeshift base had shared the world news. He’d barely looked up at the mention of the Central African Republic, having grown accustomed to reports of violence there. It was only when the anchor mentioned the organization for which Anya worked that he’d set down his fork.

  Two minutes later, his life had altered drastically when he’d heard her name, along with two others, who had disappeared in what peacekeepers were sure was a kidnap by Anti-Balaka. Somehow, the cogs of the Army had turned more quickly than usual, and he’d gotten leave and been on a plane for Bangui by that evening.

  Since then, he’d spent a tireless, but fruitless, two weeks accompanying the unit of peacekeepers assigned to find his stepsister. The group holding her kept changing locations, but they had narrowed it down. Two days ago, Etienne Francois had staggered onto a main road, apparently freed by a bargain Anya had made with the Anti-Balaka force, though he had no details of that.

  The next day, Tom Andrews had been found ten miles to the south, clearly dumped en route to their next base. His massive head bleed had left him in a coma, thus preventing debriefing.

  When he had seen those around him starting to give up on Anya, Cade had pushed and prodded. He had demanded they keep searching, and when that had failed, he’d stolen a Land Cruiser and gone on recon himself. Now that he’d found where they were hiding Anya—though he hadn’t seen her personally, a large contingency of Anti-Balaka militia members gathered in one spot offered their best lead—there was no way he wasn’t going in with the liberation force.

  “You are a gigantic pain in my ass, Jackson,” said Miwanga, but with more tiredness than heat. “Very well. Get yourself killed. It matters not to me. You are not my man, and the Army can clearly do without you, since you are still here.”

  He nodded tightly, not divulging to the overworked colonel that his orders allowing him to be away from active duty had expired seven days ago. It
was only a matter of time before the Army came looking for him, but he was going to make sure Anya was safe first.

  ***

  A few minutes before midnight, Anya looked up from changing the dressing on Jacque Taramentu’s nicely healing gunshot wounds. A quiet thudding sound had caught her attention, and she tilted her head to identify it. Seconds later, the louder whomp of automatic weapons discharging covered whatever the first sound had been.

  Almost used to the sounds of gunfire now, she bent back to her task. The leader of the Anti-Balaka group was improving daily, but there was still a low risk of infection. If he died, she died. It was only his patronage that had kept her alive.

  For whatever reason, the older man had decided she was an angel sent by God to save him. She was more sacred to the superstitious man than his beloved amulet. His favor had offered her a great deal of protection and the power to negotiate the release of her coworkers.

  It had also earned her an enemy in Esther Taramentu, the leader’s young wife and orchestrator of her kidnapping. She was jealous of Anya and seemed convinced the older man would set her aside to claim the nurse as his new wife.

  Anya didn’t think Jacque harbored any sexual feelings for her, but she was still nervous about Esther’s supposition and what actions the woman might take against her. It had led her to remaining by the leader’s side whenever possible, which had only worsened the other woman’s jealousy. She was without a solution that ended in her continued survival, so she was enduring each day in a hellish limbo of uncertainty.

  The gunfire grew closer, which captured her attention, as did the door slamming against the wall when Esther and a small contingent of young soldiers entered the room before barring the door. She shouted to them in Sango, and they formed a half-circle around the entrance as she strode forward.

  Standing over her injured husband, she began to shout at him while gesticulating wildly in Anya’s direction. Though she couldn’t follow the rapid exchange, it seemed obvious the woman wanted to shoot her regardless of Jacques’ insistence that she be protected.

  Anya tried not to scream when the gun in Esther’s hand swung her way. Instead, she met the cold black eyes of the fearsome harpy and prepared for death. Cade’s face floated through her mind, and she had to fight back tears that wanted to spill. If only things had been different. If she hadn’t been so insistent on him leaving the Army…if he hadn’t promised to and then broken his word…

  Not quite brave enough to meet her fate with her eyes open, she squeezed them shut. A second later, the roar of a gun discharging in close proximity left her ears ringing, but there was no pain. Cautiously, she opened one eye, shocked to see Esther slumping to the floor in front of her, a gaping bullet wound in her forehead. Her sightless eyes stared at Jacques in an accusing fashion, though the dead woman was beyond reproaching anyone.

  “You are my angel.” He spoke calmly as he lifted his handgun to point in the direction of the door, now under the onslaught of someone trying to break through from the other side. “You do not kill God’s messenger.”

  “Um, right.” Feeling dazed, Anya slowly sank to the floor, hand clutching the silver cross. It wasn’t a faith thing, but more of a pragmatic habit she had picked up the past two weeks. It was to her benefit to have her “host” believe she was devoutly religious.

  Suddenly, the door gave way, bouncing into the wall with a bang of metal against metal as the piecemeal corrugated wall, welded together from scrap, buckled under the force of the door hitting it.

  Troops thundered into the room, and the boy soldiers lifted their guns. Many were technically children, but she had seen them commit all manners of atrocities the past two weeks and was under no illusion they wouldn’t shoot her rescuers.

  Not that she believed they were here to specifically free her, a lone aid worker. Still, whoever was breaking into the hobbled-together house was surely after Jacques and would free her.

  Unless it was Séléka, and then she was probably just as screwed as she had been in the custody of the Anti-Balaka. Maybe even more screwed, since she was an unmarried American woman behaving contrary to their fundamental beliefs.

  Suddenly nervous, she waited for the smoke to clear enough to identify her rescuers. A surge of relief left her lightheaded when she recognized the peacekeepers’ uniforms. Convinced the experience had left her disoriented, she thought it must be a hallucination when a familiar face appeared before her.

  Hesitantly, she lifted her hand to touch his cheek, rough with stubble. “Cade?” Even as she whispered his name, she let herself surrender to the wave of unconsciousness sweeping over her. It was all simply too much to process.

  3

  Cade paced outside the hospital room where they had taken Anya for examination. So far, he’d heard nothing, but he was reassured by the physical exam he’d conducted as they had waited for a helicopter to airlift her to the capital and safety. She hadn’t appeared injured, so he dared hope it was shock that had made her collapse.

  As he completed what felt like his millionth circuit of the path in front of her room, the door opened to allow the exit of the diminutive physician who had entered the room thirty minutes before. She paused before him, her hijab shielding her hair, but revealing her compassionate eyes.

  “How is she, Dr. Jabari?”

  She smiled. “She will be fine, Mr. Jackson. Stress, a little malnutrition and dehydration, and likely some shock from the rescue overwhelmed Miss Bonner. After some rest and rehydration, she will be fine and permitted to leave.”

  Relief swept through him. “How long do you plan to keep her, doctor?”

  “Perhaps no more than overnight.”

  “I’d like to see her.” He frowned when she shook her head. “Please, doctor. She’s my…” Missing half, the hole in my heart that never fills, my lover. “…stepsister.”

  The tiny woman held up her hand. “I am sorry, but no visitors will be permitted tonight. Your sister requires rest and tranquility. You will see her tomorrow.” Her firm voice and tight expression left no doubt she wouldn’t negotiate.

  Feeling discouraged and aching to see Anya again, he reluctantly left the hospital and took a room at the nearest inn. Being located centrally to the government, it had benefited from the protection of the peacekeepers, allowing the owners to redress the damages. The cozy little place was clean and quiet, especially compared to the conditions of the past few weeks while searching for Anya. He could easily picture her in the small room, curled up on the bed in his arms.

  He ached to hold her, but it wasn’t a purely physical urge. Cade needed time with her to reassure himself she was alive and whole. He also had to make amends, because he wasn’t letting her go again.

  ***

  Anya didn’t know how to act with Cade when he escorted her from the hospital the next day. She allowed her mental weakness to influence her, soaking up his proximity by leaning heavily against him as he walked her two blocks from the hospital to a cozy inn. It occurred to her as they reached the room that they were probably sharing.

  Her assumption was confirmed by him following her inside and closing the door behind them with a soft click. Her worn backpack was on the foot of the bed, clearly fetched from her quarters at the aid station, and his duffel bag was on the small table near the bed. There was no other furniture, so she reluctantly sat on the edge of the bed.

  He hovered near her, kneeling down in not-quite-touching distance. “Can I get you something? Water? Food?”

  “An explanation would be nice.” Anya ran her hand through her hair, washed at the hospital in a pan bath that left it still feeling greasy. “Or a shower, and then an explanation.”

  “There’s a communal bathroom in the hall. Just a tub. Sorry.” He grimaced, looking like he wanted to hold onto her as she got to her feet, but hesitating.

  Leaving him to his own uncertainty, she took a nightgown from her backpack, deciding she deserved a day of lazing around in bed—after Cade vacated the room. She fou
nd the bathroom easily enough and locked the doors.

  Though the tub was tiny, it was heaven to immerse herself in hot water after two weeks of living rough as a hostage of the Anti-Balaka. She washed her hair twice, thankful they had left a simple homemade shampoo for guests, since she hadn’t thought to grab any toiletries from the stash in her bag. The handmade soap was irregularly shaped, but with creaminess that suggested a goat’s milk base. It was almost like being at a spa after her experience.

  When she finally felt clean, she drained the cooled water, dried off with a rough towel she found in a cupboard, and slipped on her nightgown. It was modest enough for a quick dart down the hallway, and she didn’t run into anyone on the way.

  She smothered a groan at the sight of Cade sprawled on the full bed, his even breathing suggesting he was deeply asleep. Part of her wanted to march across the room and kick his ass onto the floor so she could rest comfortably. The weak, emotionally attached side of her wanted to snuggle up against him and enjoy the bliss of sleeping with her lover.

  Former lover, she reminded herself ruthlessly. He’d made his choice, and she had made hers. The anger propelled her across the room, but she froze at the bedside. The ire drained from her, and she slowly sank onto the surprisingly soft mattress.

  They had both screwed it up before. She’d had plenty of time the past two weeks to mull over her regrets, and Cade had been at the top of the list. It was ironic that she had worried about his safety all that time, but she had ended up the one in extreme danger.

  She shook her head, unable to stifle the urge to push his longish hair off his forehead. His eyes fluttered, and the sparkling blue colliding with hers unfurled a familiar heat low in her belly. God, how she had missed this man, and how she wanted to lose herself in his arms, even for just a little bit.

  Seizing the moment, she stretched out beside him.